


We Love Everything About You

by XbleedwellX



Category: Be More Chill, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Be More Chill - Freeform, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Michael Mell - Freeform, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, anxiety mentions, drug mention, fem!reader - Freeform, mental health, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 81,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XbleedwellX/pseuds/XbleedwellX
Summary: Two years after the events that flipped Michael Mell’s life Upside down, you find yourself entering his world. Your father is an investigative author, moving you and your family out to New Jersey to find out exactly what is up with SQUIPS. You’re just trying to survive your senior year, and hoping to make some friends along the way. Maybe even something more. Tread lightly, though...it seems your father has a plan for how this will all go, too.
Relationships: Michael Mell/Reader
Comments: 46
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written entirely on an iPhone and I have no beta reader, please forgive any mistakes!

Being the new kid at school was not something foreign to you, but that never made the process any easier. Every time you started to get settled and found a group of friends you could really connect with, your parents would once again have to re-locate. 

Your father was an author, covering a range of investigative topics. Mostly surrounding the thought-to-be ‘science fiction’ and the paranormal. This, of course, meant a lot of location-scouting and months spent doing intensive research in different parts of the world. 

In your less than twenty years on this earth, you’d primarily stayed within the United States, save for the few trips to British Columbia and once to London. But, now, after many years on the road, you were back in your home town. That is, of course, the place you were born and spent your first five years of life. Good ol’ New Jersey. 

Your father had heard about an incident-a rumor, really, as far as you could tell. A Japanese super computer, shrunk down and concealed within a gray, oblong pill. It was rumored that some kids in this area had taken them, the consequences dire enough to cause more than one of these kids to go absolutely insane. 

Ha! As if! You’d argued with your father, to no avail, just before leaving a few days ago. 

“Dad, puh-lease!” You drew out the syllables, frustrated as you taped the last box that held your belongings. “Don’t you think that if Japanese super nano whatevers were infecting a bunch of kids, the national news would be covering it?”

He groaned, throwing his own hands up in frustration. “Your mother and I have already covered this with you, Y/N. The national news and mainstream media will /NEVER/ tell the public what’s really going on in our world! Today’s society isn’t ready to accept the harsh truths that are out there. Your mother and I are raising you to not only accept these truths, but seek them out. To educate others! Would you rather us let you be blind?” 

You flopped down onto your bed, stripped of your usual deep blue sheets. Your cheek felt the toughness of the bare mattress top, but you didn’t care at all. “Fine! But then tell me what a bunch of kids would knowingly ingest tiny super computers for!” 

Your father crossed the room now, sitting beside your form on your bare mattress, a comforting hand now laid on your back. “I don’t know exactly how it works, Y/N. That’s what I need to find out. All I can gather from online forums and support groups so far is that it has to the power to give you all of the answers you would need in social situations. It makes you...I guess, more cool.” 

You frown a little. Is there anyone desperate enough to take a super computer to change their personality? Would you have to interact with them? Why couldn’t college come sooner. 

There was just no arguing with your parents, you’d decided. Just a year or so, and you would be off living your best dorm life, away from the insanity and instability. 

————-

Though you didn’t care too much what others thought of you, a good first impression was important. You’d deliberated in the morning, your new room decorated with cardboard boxes and a blow-up mattress on the floor. You had a few graphic shirts, advertising your favorite Dungeons and Dragons podcast, as well as a few simple band shirts. Damn. That’s right. You’d have to find a new D&D group here. 

Maybe don’t let everyone know all of the nerdy stuff you were into on the first day, you decided. You went with a simple dress, black with a soft floral pattern adorning the front. Scoop necked and short sleeved, with a hem coming down to your mid-thigh. You brushed out your hair carefully in the bathroom mirror, wishing you had slept better. The air mattress was not the most kind thing to your body. 

Your mother rented and drove a U-haul, you in the passenger seat as you towed along all of your earthly possessions. Photo albums, clothes, and of course, your secret stash of stuffed animals you couldn’t bear to part with. The singular family vehicle, an embarrassing white-walled conversion van was being towed along with your mother and yourself. 

Your father had chosen to drive with the family dog (freely roaming) the front seat, the family cat in a carrier (secured properly by the seatbelt provided, of course.) In his U-Haul, every bit of furniture was being brought along. Bed frames, entertainment stands, televisions, tables, a cat tree and a kennel among the items. 

He’d gotten delayed an extra day, a flat tire on the truck causing him to stop and wait for roadside assistance. Luckily, the family pets were safe and he’s found a hotel nearby to accommodate for the night as the U-Haul got repaired. The rain pounding down seemingly across the state of New Jersey as you drove in didn’t help much for anyone case, either. 

Selfishly, you couldn’t help but be a little frustrated that you had three boxes worth of video games and no television to hook up to. Luckily, you had your trusty Gameboy for the ride to school, already tucked in a zippered pocket of your bag. 

Your mother offered to give you a ride, but you’d rather not pull up in a shady van on your first day. And buying a car was out of the question, not until you were settled at college. 

You scrunched up your nose in concentration, applying your usual makeup to your face and surveying your features in the mirror. You’d never really had a boyfriend or girlfriend, though the thought never plagued you much, for a split second, you considered that this time might be different. 

That’s the dream, isn’t it? For most teenage girls, at least. You’re the new student at school, and some adorable new person stumbles into your life and shows you all that you’ve been missing without knowing you were missing it? You push the thoughts away and make sure you have your messenger bag ready to go, throwing it over your shoulder and heading for the front door. 

School started earlier here, and your mother was exhausted from driving, still snoring loudly across the hall, just past her opened bedroom door. You decided you’d rather not wake her, and you’d just head to the end of your road where a small group of other teenagers were already standing. You slipped on some simple combat boots, anticipating some muddy grounds today. You knew you should pack a proper lunch, but also had no idea what the day held in store for you, so instead opt to grab a singular drink from the fridge in the kitchen and head out on your way, tucking the can into the larger part of your bag for safe keeping. 

After making sure you properly locked the door behind you, your nervous hands grasped the front of the strap of your messenger bag, settled across your chest. You shivered slightly, keeping your arms close to your chest as you made your way toward the group of kids. Six forty-five in the morning and one of them was already talking at almost top volume. Do people in New Jersey have coffee running through their veins? 

You’re suddenly aware of how out of place you look, simple dress on while everyone else was in multiple layers. You had thought that it might be warmer here than Canada had been, but now you were thinking you made a miscalculation at just how much warmer it would be. 

Your steps seemed to echo in your ears, one of the three teenagers at the bus stop turning to look at you. You felt the short girl’s gaze, but didn’t dare look up from the ground to meet her eyes. The loud boy in the red hoodie, adorned with multiple patches you didn’t have the time or courage to scope out right now, even halted in his heated rambling. 

The only sound to rival your too-loud footsteps as you slowed your pace and looked up at the stop sign at the street’s corner, was the fast-paced sound of acrylic nails aggressively clicking against a phone screen. 

You continue to avoid any eye contact, looking off to the side at a mostly-bare tree. There were leaves all around, fall just beginning as the early days of October unfolded. It left the trees looking rather naked, but it was a welcome change to the snow that was already forming in large piles back home. 

Home. What even is that? 

Your chest tightens a little, wishing more than anything that you had the courage to introduce yourself and just go with the flow. By now, you should be a champion at this sort of song and dance, having faced it so many times before. You here you are, senior year, starting over /again/, and nothing felt easy. 

Luckily, the boy with headphones around his neck began talking excitedly again. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he has stopped staring at you, and has turned back to the boy in the blue hoodie. 

“Whatever, man. Tell your girlfriend that I don’t care if you guys make out during the movie, I just don’t want to go see it alone! C’mon, my Cruiser is gonna be out of the shop tomorrow and I /need/ my best friend to witness this Star Wars glory with me!” 

You close your eyes and take in a deep breath. Maybe, if you had more courage, you would join into the conversation. You would ask what theater is showing the newest flick, and offer up your own excitement at seeing the story continue to unfold. 

Maybe, if you were a little stronger, you would ask the name of the girl standing a few feet away from them, gold highlighter glistening on her dark complexion along her cheeks as she pursed her lips and typed away on her phone. 

Your thoughts were halted, however, as soon as the bus pulled up. The large yellow vehicle’s tires stopped spinning and glass-paned doors swung open, directly in front of you. You swallow hard and muster up enough confidence to step up onto the slightly muddied steps, shuffling a few steps down the aisle and swinging your body into the only empty seat along the entire length of the bus. 

A deep sigh of relief escapes your lips, pulling your bag into your own lap so you could squeeze into as small of a space as possible against the window. You feel a weight on the seat beside you, the same loud voice from before calling out down the aisle dramatically. “I’ll miss you every second we’re apart, Jer-Bear!” 

You close your eyes tight, holding your breath as the boy in the red hoodie, now directly next to you puts his headphones back on, his elbow brushing your shoulder as he does so. 

“Sorry,” he offers gently, and you can feel his eyes on you, even with yours closed. “S’okay,” you barely manage to get out, before turning to look out the window, desperate to avoid any interaction this early in the morning. Your anxiety was pulsing, and you were all too aware of the small space the bus seat provided. Rather than pull out your own headphones, or even your gameboy, you opted to just watch the bare trees as you rolled along. 

For a split second, you almost wish you had one of those pills your dad was currently obsessed with. Something to make you act, speak, and think correctly. Something to make you more bold, more sure...better, all the way around.


	2. Chapter 2

The bus ride is short, maybe twenty minutes or so. The loud boy next to you is quiet along the way, his fingers wildly tapping against his thigh. You assume it’s to the beat of whatever he’s listening to in those giant headphones. You face forward, shifting your hips, feeling cramped against the window. 

The boy’s fingers still, and you feel eyes on you again. You hold your breath. One. Two. Three. Four. His fingers start again. You let the breath you’ve been holding release and relax your body some. Finally, the bus squeals to a halt and you feel an elbow collide with your shoulder again. You frown, turning your head now and making eye contact with your seat buddy. 

“Sorry,” he offers in a small voice, brown eyes meeting yours. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, watching as the corners of his lips turn upward into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. 

Your heart stills in your chest. Woah. Calm down, Y/N. You’re just a sucker for a good smile, that’s all this is. 

“I’m Michael,” he says in a way-too-cheery tone. How is anyone this upbeat? 

“Y/N,” you offer back, over the roar of teenagers standing up in preparation for departure. 

“You’re new, right? If you need anyone to talk to, I’m always kind of around. And...” he pauses, looking down, and then looking back up into your eyes. “I know a lot of people say that kind of thing. I really do mean it. I had a tough time a while back and I just...I don’t ever want anyone to feel alone here.” 

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Who was this kid? Michael, obviously, but who was he, really? He seemed sincere enough but you’d never encountered anyone so bold and...what’s the word? Sweet? Compassionate? Again, Y/N, slow down. You don’t even know this kid! 

You shuffle to stand, falling in line behind Michael, exiting the bus as quickly as you can. All of your attention is on not tripping and falling, and making sure you messenger bag’s weight against your hip is enough to keep your skirt down, the cool morning sir hitting your face as you exit. 

You’re inhale the autumn breeze deeply, blindly reaching into your bag to find your class schedule. Your eyes scan the paper and you slowly walk forward, toward the front doors of your new school. Homeroom, and then....Oh, great. 

First period gym. Second period, English. Third period, Math. Lunch. Science, History, and a big finish with Woodshop. Gross. But that’s what you get for entering school late in the term, last pick of extracurriculars. 

You remember that you have a buddy today, to show you around. You remember that your mother said you needed to go straight to the front office so that you could meet this person. You hope more than anything that this person is going to be your quick friend, and will help you navigate the social structure of the senior class. You hope they’re as friendly as Michael. 

——-

You’re waiting for ten whole minutes, before a blonde girl in a Hannah Montana-like shawl draped over her shoulders saunters into the front office. Her left hand is clutching a can of seltzer, a pink plastic straw sticking out of the top. Each finger has at least four tiny bands of silver on it. You swallow hard, raising your eyebrows. 

“Brooke?” You ask timidly, starting to stand. She gives a warm smile, her voice hitting your ears a little too harshly as she excitedly nods. 

“That’s me! The one and only. Well, except for Brooke S, but she’s a junior and except for being in the same lunch period as me, we’re never in the same room. So, I guess, like, I’m the only Brooke here.” 

You blink a few times. Man, everyone here is just such a character. 

“I’m Y/N, I just transferred from Canada.” 

Brooke’s eyes widen as she reached her free hand out to take your arm, hooking her elbow with yours and leading you out the door and, presumably, to your homeroom. 

“Oh my god, do you know any French?!” 

You rather like the company by your side, although her voice is a little hard to listen to. Her smile shines bright and her eyes sparkle, even under the less than flattering fluorescent lighting of the high school hallway. 

You smile just a bit, following her lead-or, rather, allowing yourself to be dragged along into a classroom. “Oui. Bonjour, je m'appelle Y/N.” 

Brooke nods really slowly, and you realize that this girl does not, in fact, speak French. 

“Yeah, French is très magnifique. I’m still learning, though.” She gasps suddenly, releasing your arm and sliding into a seat beside another beautiful blonde girl. “Maybe you could teach me!” 

You try to smile around the awkwardness, finding an empty desk behind the new blonde girl. “Uhm, sure.” 

“This is Chloe,” Brooke explains to you. “She’s, like, a total bitch. But she’s /my/ total bitch.” 

You nod, although slightly confused. Is this how girls talk to and about each other? You’ve never really had...well, any close friends. But certainly never any friends like Brooke. 

Chloe does not turn around, or even acknowledge that you’re there, immediately delving into some gossip about some girl named Madeline with Brooke. 

You sigh, watching the clock until about five minutes had passed. You’re aware that some announcements were made on a loud speaker, but you have no idea what the announcements were about. 

In fact, you’re so lost in your own thoughts, it takes a harsh yank from Brooke on your elbow before you realize she’s talking to you. “Gym first period is such a drag, but you’ll have me! You did bring gym clothes, right?” 

Your heart sinks in your chest. You, in fact, had not brought gym clothes. And you chose a dress of all things. You shake your head to let Brooke know, as you find yourself still frozen in your seat. 

Chloe, as she is called, rises from her seat and makes her way toward the door, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the frame. “BROOKE!” 

As if she was a little dog terrified of being hit on the nose by a newspaper, your guide for the day jumps a little, her hand still on your elbow as you begin to rise. Jesus, is this what friendship is here?

“Coming!” The high-pitched blonde yells back to her friend, pulling you alongside her once again-our the door, and down the hallway, into the gym locker rooms. She turns to you as you walk, pursing her lips in thought. “I would let you borrow some of my gym clothes, but I don’t think they’d fit you.” 

You frown a bit, taken aback by the comment. Were all teenage girls this catty and you’d just never noticed it? 

——-

The fall air is nice in small bouts, but when it’s whipping against your hair and skin in all directions, it stings a little. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your knees pressed firmly together. The backs of your legs burn, the icy metal of the bleachers flush against your thighs. 

You’d assumed that maybe Brooke with sit with you in solidarity, but no such luck came. She was on the football field, stretching next to Chloe, and the girl from you bus stop. Jenna was her name, you’d learned. And she seemed to be the nicest of the bunch. Though, she was always glued to her phone. 

You shiver again, wishing desperately that these next forty minutes would fly by. 

You suddenly feel the metal beneath your feet shaking with the weight of two boys running up the center stairs. You glance over, reaching a hand up to push your hair out of your face. A familiar face appears, just a row or two below where you are sitting. 

A red hoodie follows a blue one, two teenage boys shuffling down along the bleachers...right to where you’d positioned. You feel the creep of a smile on your lips, but it’s gone just as quickly as the wind whips at your skin again. 

“Y/N!” You hear Michael’s excited voice, the taller of the two teenagers sitting with his knees facing you, just a few rows below where you’re seated. He’s looking up at you with a friendly smile, his elbows now resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. 

“I’m Jeremy. You forget gym clothes?” 

“You guess right,” you say in as friendly of a tone as you can muster, hoping that this was a genuine olive branch being extended your way, probably via Michael. But, from what you’d seen of the population at this school so far, you couldn’t be sure. 

Michael breathes a little heavier than Jeremy, as if the stairs on the bleachers really took a lot out of him. “We ‘forget our gym clothes’ almost every day,” he explains with that same wide smile. You almost can’t look him in the eyes when he does that. 

You look down at the two boys, now seated beside each other, looking up at you expectantly. You laugh a little to yourself, unsure of what to say. 

“It’s colder than I thought it would be,” you say honestly. “I guess a dress wasn’t the best option.” 

The taller boy-Jeremy-nods his head, reaching a hand up to push his glasses up his nose. “My girlfriend likes to wear dresses a lot, but she’s learned that a good pair of thick leggings and a jacket are a life saver. Especially in the fall.” 

You nod, wrapping your arms around your midsection for some kind of warmth. “Does she go to school here?” 

Michael stands suddenly, as Jeremy turns and looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s down there, actually. Her name is Christine.” He gestures with a pointed finger to a small Asian girl, doing some kind of hip-heavy dance in place of everyone else’s stretching. Jeremy chuckles, turning back to you. 

Your eyes stay fixated on the small girl on the field. She’s not near Brooke or her crew, and you can’t help but silently congratulate Christine on staying away from them. You feel the bench shake once again as Michael steps up beside you, and something warm comes around your shoulders. You bring your hands up, holding the edges of the red hoodie he’s placed around you. 

He steps back down to where his friend is still sitting, pulling the long sleeves of his black pullover down on his arms. “Better?” He asks. 

You’re frozen for a minute, pulling the hoodie tighter around your shoulders and taking in a deep breath. Did a boy just give you his jacket? 

You nod dumbly, lost on what to say. Jeremy grins a bit, hitting Michael on his forearm. “I hope you washed that recently.” 

Michael’s eyebrows knit together as he frowns at his friend. “Hey,” he starts, as if to defend himself. You notice how expressive his face is, and take note of the gentle waft of cologne the wind is giving you as it blows against you hoodie-covered shoulders. 

“I actually-“ you hesitate for a moment, both boys turning their heads to face you again. You cross one leg over the other and swallow, your throat feeling more dry than you remember it being a moment ago. 

“I actually think it smells just fine...I like the cologne you use.” You say it softly, finishing with a smile. Michael’s expression softens some, but he doesn’t smile at you. Jeremy does, however, and then nudges his knee against Michael’s. 

You wonder for a moment if you’ve said something wrong, but you attention is pulled when the coach down on the field blows a whistle. The three of you watch, with no jealous, as the rest of the class begins their first lap around the track. 

You remember that your messenger bag is at your feet, and that you haven’t had breakfast yet. Jeremy’s head seems to be following Christine, and you smile to yourself. Maybe one day I’ll have that, you can’t help but think. 

You silently wonder who Michael might be watching, unable to tell from the back of his head which seemed to be for the most part stilled. You shuffled a bit and actually slipped his hoodie on, hoping whatever significant other he might have wouldn’t mind. 

The red fabric feels broken in and heavily worn as the soft liner drags along the skin on your arms. Once settled in your new blanket of warmth, you bend down and pull the can you grabbed this morning out of your fridge. 

Your fingers fumble for a second as you try to carefully pop the tab, not wanting to get a drop of anything on this boy’s clothing you’ve been lent. The click of the tab causes both Michael and Jeremy to turn around. 

Michael’s eyes are suddenly wide as you take a sip from the can, and Jeremy has a small smirk on his face. You let the can come down and rest on your knee, a look of worry on your face. Oh, no. Is Michael upset that you have an open drink near his jacket? 

Jeremy’s in a full grin, leaning back onto his palms on the bleacher. “What’s that?” He asks, in an almost playful tone. You can’t read this situation, but you decide to answer anyway. You avoid looking at Michael, who is swallowing hard and staring at you as if you have three heads. 

“...it’s...surge. It’s this, uh, soda that they used to make in the nineties. I found a place in Canada-where I moved from. It, uh. It’s hard to find, so I grabbed a few cases before the move. It’s the most high-“ 

You hear your sentence being finished by Michael, who you’re pretty sure hasn’t blinked once. “-octane lemon-lime soda ever sold,” he answers, almost sounding bewildered. 

You nod, taking another sip and wrapping your free arm back around your midsection. “Yeah,” you reply. 

Jeremy nudges Michael’s knee again, and you can see a small bit of pink flushing his tanned cheeks. 

“Michael’s super into old novelty drinks,” Jeremy explains finally, looking back over his shoulder at the class, who was beginning their second lap now. 

“Oh!” You start to laugh a little, Michael’s face reddening even more as he reached out and back-handed Jeremy’s knee softly. You hold out the can to him, leaning forward on your bench. “Here, you can have some if you want.” 

Michael blinks at you a few times, his eyes darting between your own and the can a few times before he extends a somewhat shaky hand and takes the can from you. 

“It’s the least I can offer, since you gave up your jacket so that I wouldn’t perish in the New Jersey tundra.” 

Michael doesn’t laugh, but rather holds the can in front of him after taking a sip. “You’re funny,” he says. But his tone sounds matter-of-fact, and much more quiet than you knew him to be. Though, you didn’t really know him at all. 

“Thank you, I think.” 

Jeremy sits up some more, as Michael tries to hand the can back to you. You shake your head and out your hand up. “Keep it, please. I have, like, three cases at home. Like I said, least I can do.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says almost too soft for you to hear, a smile finally creeping back onto his face. Something pulls in your chest, your body engulfed in the warmth of his hoodie, the faint smell of his cologne in your nose as you watch him smile that wide smile again. 

He’s cute, you think to yourself. But brush it aside quickly. It’s not like you can just start crushing on the first person you meet. That’s improbable, and impractical. Both of which were things you were not. 

You and the two boys watch the class for a bit, in comfortable silence, happy that none of you were down there with them. At the end of the class, Michael tosses the empty can of Surge into a nearby recycling bin, and you pull off his hoodie, wrapping it into a neat-ish ball and handing it back to him. 

He sides it back on easily, and you wrap your arms around yourself as the three of you rise from the bleachers and start heading back up to the school. You half expect them to go ahead of you, but they stay by your side. “Maybe I’ll have to forget my gym clothes again some time,” you say, looking up at Jeremy, walking to your left. 

“I’m sure Michael would love that,” he says back, looking over at his friend, whose hands were in the pockets of his jeans, his cheeks almost as red as the hoodie back on his upper body. “Shut up,” Michael said under his breath, moving behind you to playfully kick at Jeremy’s shin. 

You roll your eyes. It didn’t seem like any harm was meant, whatever the teasing was about. Oh, teenage boys and how they confuse you so.


	3. Chapter 3

By lunch, it’s evident that Brooke is not going to be your friend this year. You’re just too different. All throughout English and Math, Jenna and Brooke whisper in the back of the classroom. You find it increasingly hard to take notes. 

And you also find it extremely difficult to not cry in frustration when your teacher reprimands Brooke in front of the class, asking if she thinks this is a good example to set for you. Oh, god. Don’t bring me into this, you think. 

Lunch finally comes, and you’re hunched over a bit at the end of a cafeteria table. It seemed like just maybe this was the popular table, judging by everyone currently seated. Jake, the quarterback, sat with his arm around Chloe, the star cheerleader. 

Jenna was still typing furiously on her phone, a habit you don’t suspect anyone could break her of. Brooke was rambling on and on, to no one in particular, but mostly at Jenna. There were two more football players you didn’t catch the name of, and a girl seated between them, who you think was named Violet. 

The drabble was too much at this point, and you needed a distraction. You reached into your bag and pulled out your trusty gameboy, powering on and turning the volume all the way down. Ah, yes. Classic Mario Brothers. Each level was memorized at this point, and you were merely working your way through every secret world and hidden terrain. You heard some of the noise halt at the table, and looked back up to the group of teenagers, eyes all fixated on you. 

“That’s the thing Michael always has with him,” Chloe says, almost off-put in tone. You blink a few times. “Oh. Michael...the kid with the red jacket?” You cock your head some, Brooke nodding wildly. 

“Yes! And I noticed you looking trés cozy on the bleachers wearing it today!” There didn’t seem to be any malice in her tone, but it still felt like a trap somehow. You don’t show any emotion at this, simply shrug some. “I don’t know if he had a girlfriend...” you reflect for a moment, and realize the very real possibility. “Or a boyfriend, but I was just cold.” 

Jenna laughs. “Michael? With somebody? That kid is definitely asexual. Probably aromantic, too. Rich has been trying for two years to get at him. Won’t even go on a date. I think it’s because he’s in love with Jeremy, even though Jeremy and Christine have been going out for, like, two years at this point.” The girl didn’t even look up from her phone, spewing all this information that was a little more than you needed at the moment. Hm. That /did/ kind of make sense, as you remembered the way Michael called after Jeremy on the bus. Not that it matters. And who was Jenna to say any of this for sure? 

Brooke shook her head. “No, I dated Jeremy, and he would have told me if Michael was in love with him.” 

Chloe chimes in now. “You dated him for three seconds, Brooke.” 

“Until you swooped in and made out with him at Jake’s party!”

Your eyes widen. Woah. Talk about disfunction. But good for Jeremy! He really didn’t seem like Brooke’s type. Maybe that was a while ago, if he’s been with Christine so long. 

“Jeremy’s okay, but Michael is so weird.” Chloe was speaking again, tossing her perfectly straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “See, Y/N, like, two years ago we were all in the school play with Christine. She’s actually pretty okay. So, me, Jenna, Brooke, Jake, Hannah, Jeremy, Christine, and Noah all took ecstasy before the show. It was, like, amaze balls. Absolutely mind blowing stuff. I seriously remembering feeling like I was a sexy ninja. But what I remember most of all is Michael showing up and trashing all the fun. All like, ‘Jeremy, bro, come be a loser again with me. Blah blah blah’.” She rolls her eyes, shrugging. “He’s, like, super into old video games and nerdy shit.” 

You glance over at the table where Michael, Jeremy, Christine, and a boy with what seems like a hundred tattoos all sit. Your gameboy is still in your hands as you lock eyes with Michael, who is most definitely staring at you. 

You lift your hand a little to wave, and watch as Michael turns and whispers something to Jeremy. They both look over at you, and you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Jeremy smiles wide and gives a bro-punch to Michael’s shoulder, turning back to his conversation with Christine. 

Michael doesn’t make eye contact again during the lunch period, though you steal a few glances over to check. 

————

You don’t see any familiar faces until woodshop at the end of the day. But you /are/ pleasantly surprised to see Jeremy’s girlfriend, Christine, at the end of a workbench. It’s the end of the day, you figure, and at this point, you’re completely done putting up with Brooke. 

So, you straight up ditch her. You take the empty seat beside Christine and she smiles at you, already strapping goggles onto her face. “Hey! You’re Y/N, right?” 

You’re relieved, not feeling like the only sane girl in this school. “Yes. And I desperately want to talk about something other than manicures and boys!”

Christine gives a giggle, and the corners of her eyes crinkle a bit. She has a pleasant laugh, and is bubbly in a much more contained way than Michael is. You can see why Jeremy is so infatuated with her. 

“Well, I’m Christine. And I love play rehearsal, documentaries, bowling, and nachos.” She scrunches her nose up a bit. “And you?” 

“You do theater? Is your last name Daae?” You attempt the lame joke, half-expecting it to fall flat. But, to your surprise, Christine’s eyes light up. “I wish! Though, I’m trying to stay away from leading roles for a while. Maybe just Meg.” 

You nod enthusiastically, picking up your own pair of goggles from the table in front of you. You carefully slide the strap onto your head and fix the plastic in front of your eyes. 

“For Phantom, Maybe. Have you seen the sequel? I would argue Meg is quite the lead in Love Never Dies.” 

“I /totally/ find that!” Christine grabs your arm in a much softer way than Brooke does, closer to something you would expect from a friend. “Wow, you’re so...nice! Are you a theater kid, too?”

You shake your head, a deep voice from the front of the classroom commanding the attention from every student in the room. Instructions are given on how to use the ruler and pencil provided to start measuring and marking the planks of wood laid out on each desk. 

It seems like this is a middle step of some sort, but Christine quietly assures you: “I can show you what we’ve done so far.” You appreciate that more than you can put to words. After the instructor has gone over the importance of goggles and focus, he sits at his desk and begins to type on his computer-which looks very outdated for a school teacher in this day and age. 

You turn back to Christine, pulling forward a piece of wood from the pile in front of you, one that closely matches the one she’s working on. She shows you what you’re marking and explains that today the class is measuring so that next class, you can make cuts, and hopefully by Christmas, you’ll have a model toy boat. 

“So, you’re not a theatre kid?” She asks again. 

“No, I can’t memorize lines to save my life. I do enjoy watching and listening, though. I’d love to see a performance of yours. Everyone says you’re wonderful.”

She blushes a bit, raising a hand up to cover her mouth as she giggles. “Oh, please. I’m not that good. So...what kind of stuff are you into, then?” 

You sit back in your seat more comfortably, finally feeling at ease at this school. You think for a moment, lining up your ruler and making a few marks on the plywood. “Video games. Dungeons and dragons. Uh, old horror movies...I’m really into vintage stuff from the 80’s and 90’s. My dad’s kind of a paranormal investigator and he has this massive collection of, like, my pet monsters and madballs. I grew up around it, I guess.” 

Christine laughs softly. “You should hang out with Michael, then. Sounds like you two are a perfect match.” 

A blush creeps onto your face and you keep your covered eyes down on the wood in front of you, not daring to comment. Michael seemed so reserved earlier, like you had said the wrong thing. Maybe he was just surprised to see another person into vintage drinks? He was nice this morning, but the way he was staring at you during lunch felt troubling. Like you’d done something wrong. 

You couldn’t be sure, and you didn’t want to make any assumptions. 

“He’s your next door neighbor, you know. He told me so at lunch.” 

Your hands hover above your ruler, pencil becoming still. 

“What.” 

“Yeah, at lunch. He said he saw you and your mom moving a bunch of boxes yesterday, and then mentioned you were at his bus stop this morning, too.” 

You nod a little. Totally a normal teenage conversation. Nothing to be concerned about, you scold yourself silently. Not everything is a big game. Not everything is a scheme or more than it appears. You’re not that important, you try to remind yourself. 

The class goes by pretty quickly, Christine helping you catch up to where the rest of the class was at. You noticed that other than positive comments about her immediate friends, Christine didn’t talk about anyone else. Certainly not the way Brooke and her friends did. 

Relieved, you throw your messenger bag over your shoulder and listen to the afternoon announcements, vaguely making out something about yearbook club sign ups. 

Once the final bell rings, you rise out of your seat to head out to the bus yard, but feel a soft grip on your forearm once again. 

“Y/N, I hope this isn’t too forward, but you didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself much at lunch today. If you want, you can come sit with us tomorrow. We don’t bite.” She scrunches up her nose again. “Well, Maybe Rich, but I’ll keep him in check.” 

You smile at her, showing your teeth as you let out a soft laugh. “I’ll take you up on that offer, I think. I’ll see you tomorrow, Christine!”

———

Again, you find yourself pressed against the window, in an empty seat on the same bus you rode to school on. You’re a little more comfortable now, and with no one beside you, you pull your gameboy out once more. 

Just as you’re counting the seconds before you can safely advance past a ghost blob, you feel someone slide into the seat beside you. You look over to find Michael, looking down at his lap, his hands fisted, tightly holding the edges of his sleeves in his palms. 

“Hey,” you say casually, not feeling half as awkward as you did this morning. 

He looks at you, cocking his head a bit to the side. “...Is it okay if I sit here?” 

You laugh lightly, your attention turning back to the game. “I’d rather sit next to you than anyone else on this bus,” you say honestly. A smile creeps back onto his face and he settles in the seat beside you, leaning against your side to look over your shoulder. 

“Super Mario Brothers 2?” 

“Yeah, I’ve beat it a bunch. I’m just trying to unlock all the hidden worlds.” 

Michael unclenched his fists and raised his right hand up to push his glasses back up on his nose some, the same time from this morning finding its way back into his voice. 

“If you exit this world and hold down the left button, it should force Mario to cut straight through the map and into an underwater cavern.” 

Your hands still for a moment as you turn you head to face him. Your breath hitches as you become aware that your noses are only an inch or so apart. You hold your breath for a second, your eyes flicking down to his slightly-parted lips. You meet his brown eyes once more, which seem to be full of silent questions. None of these questions can be answered right now, though, so you shrink back into the window some, crossing one leg over the other and doing as he said. 

The moment you press the left button, the tiny eight bit pixels do exactly as Michael said they would. “Thank you,” you mumble, journeying on in the underwater level you’ve now unlocked. 

“Not a problem,” he responds under his breath. You notice his fingers press down to hold red fabric firmly within his own palms once more, and very lightly entertain the idea that maybe he also noticed just how close your faces had been a moment ago.


	4. Chapter 4

You and Michael don’t speak the rest of the ride, and the walk home is slightly awkward as you push your gameboy back into your bag and wave a simple goodbye to your new next door neighbor. You stand at the end of your driveway, now filled with your father’s U-Haul truck, and the family van. 

You watch as Michael walks up his front porch steps, reaching a hand out to grip the doorknob. He looks back at you and gives a small wave before pulling the door open and ducking inside. The wind whips your hair against your face and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

The boy next door, you think to yourself. How cliche. 

Once you enter you own front door, you’re immediately knocked down by an excited dog, bounding at you and leaping up onto your chest. You fall back less than gracefully against the now-closed front door and laugh as your familiar friend licks your face. 

“Down, boy!” 

You finally manage to calm the pup some, and shuffle around his ever-moving body and furiously wagging tail. You give a tiny nod of acknowledgement to your cat, curled up on the ledge of the large bay window on the front of the house. 

She seemed to settle in easily, you thought with just a hint of jealousy. But you were pulled from your thoughts when you smelled your favorite meal being prepared in the kitchen. You knew your mother was no cook, so it had to be your father. 

You found your way into the kitchen and greeted your dad with a peace sign, only to see him frown in response. “Is that any way to greet your father after he faced the murky waters of death this weekend?” 

You shake your head, opening the fridge to grab a new can of surge. You can’t help but smile to yourself, remembering your encounter with Michael. Maybe you’ll “forget” your gym clothes again tomorrow...

“What?” You ask aloud, suddenly aware that you father had been speaking to you. 

“I asked how your first day went.” 

“Oh, fine! I made some friends, actually.” 

Your father purses his lips as he listens to you, bending down to pull the tray of dinner out of the oven. You lean against the counter opposite the fridge, cracking open your can of surge and taking a bit swig. 

You fight back a laugh at the sight of your father in a ‘Kiss The Cook’ apron and big pink oven-mitts. He’d found both at a garage sale, and would NOT stop talking about what a great deal it was for, like, six months afterward. 

“And what did you find out about SQUIPS?” 

Your face falters a little. It seemed as though sometimes you were just a pawn in his research. This wasn’t the first time your father had implied-or outright asked-that you try to talk to local kids about hearsay and legend. You just wished he could’ve asked more openly, or shared any of the work with you along the way. 

The first few days, sometimes even weeks in a new town were always fun, but eventually your father would lose himself in the work. You’d start spending hours at a time with your dungeons and dragons group. Your mother was an on-call nurse, one of the only in the country who still made house calls. 

She’d often be out late and though she would at least text to make sure you weren’t dead, neither of your parents seemed to take too much interest in where you were. Your father would be out scouting, or holed up in whatever room he’d claim as his ‘office’, typing away into the early morning hours. 

You’d found ways to deal with this. Video games, after school clubs, the occasional smoking session in towns where you’d found a reliable hook up. You truly couldn’t wait for college, knowing the only research you’d have to participate in there would be for  
Your own benefit. 

“No, strangely enough. No conversations about nano super computer pills came up today.”

“Maybe you could start a conversation,” your father says almost sternly, no hint of humor in his voice at all. 

You roll your eyes, suddenly not hungry anyway. “I think I’m going to go do my homework and lay down. I’ll just use the air mattress again tonight.” 

Your father turned away from the steaming hot pan of food, now cooling on the stove top. He slowly removed the pink oven mitts and sighed, leaning his back to the front of the oven door. 

“Y/N, I don’t want this to be like last time. I’m not forcing you to ask anyone about SQUIPS. I just think that since this is a teenage epidemic, and you’re a teenager, maybe you could help your old man out.” 

Your heart aches. You want so badly to believe him. For it to be different this time. 

“Where’s mom?”

“House call,” he says simply. And the answer doesn’t surprise you. 

You leave the kitchen without another word, huffing off to your room and changing into your pajamas almost immediately. You had on legend of Zelda sleep pants and a gray short sleeved shirt. Comfortable and easy after a long day of anything but. You pull your hair up so it’s out of your way, and sit down cross-legged on your air mattress. 

You’d set your school bag down just a few feet from your bed, so you lean over and pull it close. You didn’t have that much homework, just a math sheet or two, and a read and respond packet for history. 

It didn’t take you more than an hour to complete your homework, the silence of your bedroom a nice distraction from your racing thought and the chaos of getting to know everyone at your new school. 

You were comforted by the fact that you at least knew Michael, Jeremy, and now Christine. They seemed as good a clan as any you’d had before. Better, even. And the fact that one of them was your neighbor-even better. 

You finished the last word of your history mini-essay, and covered your face with your hands, yawning a bit. A soft knock on your door caused you to look up, letting your hands drop. 

“You may enter!”

Your father pushes your bedroom door open, a remorseful look on his face as he crosses your room and kneels on his knees beside the air mattress. He extends a bowl forward, full of the dinner he’d prepared for you. There’s a small amount of steam rising from the bowl, which means he must have reheated it. 

You take the peace offering slowly, holding it in your lap. “So, what did /you/ learn about SQUIPS today?” 

He takes in a breath. “Our next door neighbors are two very lovely women, and they have a son you go to school with. Malcolm, I think.” 

“Michael,” you correctly quickly, raising a forkful of dinner to your mouth. 

“Michael, that’s it! They stopped by today to wish us a welcome to the neighborhood. I invited them in and I told them I was hesitant about moving here because I’d heard some rumors about the pills. It turns out they knew quite a bit.” 

Your chewing slows, your mind racing once again. Michael seemed to be so sweet and know exactly the right things to say today...could he have taken one of those things? 

“They said they knew of a kid who took one a few years back. He went absolutely crazy and he hurt some people, and tried to hurt himself.” 

“Because of the SQUIP?”

Your father shrugs. “Trying to get it out, Y/N. So, I guess, yes. It implants in your nervous system and it literally controls your brain. Im really worried for you here. I know you’re smart, but just promise me that no matter what, you won’t take one of these things if you’re offered it.” 

You swallow your current bite of food, slightly offended that one of your parents could possibly think you so callow as to do something so stupid. 

“You got it, pops. Besides, I hear everyone’s jumping off a bridge tomorrow anyway, so I’ll be too busy to ingest nano computers.” 

Your father doesn’t smile. So you raise another forkful of dinner to your lips and cast your gaze downward, feeling a disconnect from your family once again. 

“This is hardly a joke,” he says a little more sternly. “I know you don’t always believe in my work...but believe me when I say that SQUIPS are dangerous.” 

You nod solemnly, staring off into a corner of the room, still avoiding eye contact. Your father reaches a hand out to pat your knee, standing a moment later and heading for your door again. 

“Y/N?”

You look up at him finally, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“I love you very much.” 

“I love you, too, dad.” 

————

The following morning, you decide you’re not going to make the same mistake as before. You opt for skinny jeans and a graphic t shirt, along with a black zip-up hoodie you find at the bottom of your clothing box. 

You slide your arms into the sleeve and for a split second, wish that red fabric was sliding against your skin again. You push the thought from your mind almost as quickly as it entered, and decide to keep your hair up today, to avoid any tangles from the wind. You’d spent too long the previous night brushing it out. You’re not going to make that mistake again. 

With two cans of surge in your bag this time, and the same combat boots on...and no gym clothes anywhere on your person or in your bag, you head out for the bus stop. You notice that Jeremy isn’t there today, and that Jenna is typing away at her phone, as usual. 

You have an old flip phone tucked away in your back pocket, and you barely even use that. The gameboy is a little different, there’s a goal there. You wonder if Jenna has a goal when she’s staring at her phone screen 24/7. 

You don’t feel as nervous today, walking up beside Michael and reaching a hand out to touch his forearm. “Hey,” you say softly, trying to get his attention. His rues were closed as he swayed back and forth to whatever he was listening to on his headphones. 

He jumps a little, eyes snapping open as he reaches up and takes his headphones off. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come up.” 

Jenna looks over at you two, but you pay it no mind, completely uninterested by her, based on what you’d seen in the past twenty four hours. Besides, she’d probably spread a rumor that you were flirting with Michael anyway. You feel your face heat up a little at the thought, and clear your throat. 

“S’okay. Where’s Jeremy?” You glance around, as if searching for the missing lanky boy. Michael settles his headphones around his neck and kicks one of his feet against some loose gravel around the base of the stop sign. 

“It’s kind of dumb,” he starts. “I usually drive us both to school, but my car’s in the shop right now. I’m supposed to have it back tomorrow or the next day. I haven’t ridden the bus in years, and so I had him stay the night so he could ride with me in case I had a...” he seems to bite the inside of his cheek. 

You wait for a moment, hoping that he’ll finish and when he doesn’t, you adjust the strap of your bag across your chest, rising up on your toes a bit. “A....?”

“A...” he exhales shakily, as if embarrassed. His voice lowers a bit, and he leans in a little closer to you. “Panic attack,” he finishes quietly, close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath against your skin. You shiver a little, swearing silently to no one but yourself that it was from the cold. 

He pulls back a little, and brings one hand up to run through his slightly disheveled hair. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a big reaction, but you don’t see anything too shocking about his confession. “He’s a good friend,” you say simply, offering a soft smile to the teenage boy in front of you. 

You’re smiling rather stupidly at each other, no words being exchanged, when the bus pulls up. Jenna pushes past you both, getting on first. Michael was next, and you followed close behind. Your eyes scanned as far back as they could, taking note of how many empty seats there were. Four or five, that you could tell. Plenty of room to get your own seat today, you think. 

Michael shuffles into an empty seat, and just as the bus doors close and you’re about to head toward the back of the bus where the rest of the empty seats are, you feel a pull on your hand. 

In one swift motion, you’re brought to Michael’s side. His mouth is in a soft curve, his hand holding yours ever so gently. “Sit with me?” He asks quietly, though he hadn’t given you much of a choice. You give his hand a soft squeeze, settling in at his side. 

You pull your bag up into your lap and start to fish around the inside pocket for your gameboy, and it’s not until you feel the soft stroke of a thumb gliding over the back of your hand that you realize you hadn’t let go of Michael’s hand. 

You tense up and pull your hand away gently, looking down and wishing for a moment that you’d left your hair in it’s natural state, so you could hide your face. 

Michael doesn’t say anything, his eyes fixated out the window as he pulls his arms in and around his chest. You want desperately to say something, but nothing feels right. Well, that’s not exactly true. His hand holding yours felt...comforting. Relaxing. Natural. Something you weren’t sure you were ever going to find, let alone so quickly here. 

You close your eyes tight, feeling the slight sting of tears. Be strong, Y/N. You can NOT get a crush on the very first person you meet. You can NOT get a crush on the boy next door. You can NOT get carried away with this. 

The bus ride is loud, multiple conversations going on at once. But, the silence in this small bus seat is deafening. You see the marquee for the high school come into view out the window of the bus, past Michael’s profile. 

“I forgot my gym clothes again,” you say as you sit up in your seat. “If that’s okay.” 

Michael doesn’t turn to you, but runs his tongue over his lower lip, seemingly lost in thought. “Hm.” 

You bite your own lower lip, wondering if you’ve upset him somehow. Was it wrong to pull your hand away before? His voice breaks the silence, and your incessant thoughts. “Are you straight edge?” 

You blink. “Uh...” Wasn’t this the kid that was super against everyone doing ecstasy? What a weird question, you think. “I mean, I don’t, like, do heroin. I don’t like the smell of cigarettes, but I do dabble in, yknow, pot.” 

You lower your voice a little as you finish your sentiment, unsure of who might be listening in. With the way these seniors gossip, you’d rather not have any of your personal information getting out. 

Michael lets out a breathy laugh. “I know it’s early, but, uh. If you want to meet Jeremy and I under the bleachers, I might have something on me.” 

You nod, although you’re suddenly aware that he can’t see you. So, you opt for an out loud answer this time. “I’ll see you there.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there drug warning just pot tho thank u

Homeroom went by in a flash, neither Brooke or Chloe even attempting to act like you existed. Which, you had to admit, you were a little bit grateful for. 

Without Brooke’s help, though, you were just a few minutes late to gym now. The hallways all looked the same in this stupid school, and as much as you loathed her presence, Brooke did know her way around. 

You had searched around for Christine in the hallway outside of the gym locker room, but to no avail. You certainly didn’t want to search the changing room, either, lest any hateful rumors spread about you being a peeping tom. Teenage girls are ruthless, that’s one thing you knew for sure. 

Carrying the weight of your messenger bag across your chest, over your black jacket, you made your way down to the field where the class was already stretching. Michael was right earlier, when he said it was early in the morning. But, you knew yourself. You could handle a little buzz. Just a pick me up. 

You’d been so stressed lately, you deserved to have a good time with friends. Friends. You turned the word over in your brain a few times. Could you consider Michael and Jeremy your friends? Your gut says yes, but there was a certain amount of weirdness that came with the boys. 

You made your way to the same bleachers you sat atop yesterday, noticing that there was a small opening on the side, just big enough for someone to slip through, if they noticed it there. For a moment, as you approached, you considered that this might be some kind of cruel practical joke. 

Let’s pretend to be friends with the new girl and get her caught trying to get in a few puffs before school. But you shake the thought out of your head, hearing familiar voices as you approach the small opening. You press your back against the metal for a moment, trying to make out the conversation. 

You hear Jeremy’s voice first. “You literally don’t know until you try,” he says adamantly, and you hear Michael’s voice come out a little higher than it normally is.

“Look, I wasn’t even sure that I liked girls like that but-“ he’s cut off quickly, and you take a step toward the opening, deciding that you’d better make yourself known before you got caught. 

You can hear some shuffling at the same time that you rap your knuckles against the metal gently. Jeremy slips out from the small opening and in what seems like no effort at all, slips right back inside. “Come in, Y/N. Just make sure you duck.” 

You’re able to get under the bleachers rather easily, and see that there is a rolled up turf strip, serving as a seat for the two boys. You push Michael’s words out of your mind, they could have been talking about absolutely anything. And it wasn’t your business at all to get involved in. 

So, you don’t bring it up at all. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust in the dim lighting, only slivers of sunlight coming through the edge of the bleachers. “Do you guys do this a lot?” 

You find a seat on the rolled up turf in between your new friends, and Jeremy is quick to answer. “Like, once a month. Sometimes more if we’re stressed out.” 

You pause for a moment, watching as Michael pulls an already-rolled blunt from his bag. You inhale deeply, suddenly feeling a little nervous. You’ve never smoked on school grounds before, but it doesn’t seem like these guys would lead you astray. 

“Does Christine know?” You feel a little awkward asking, but you are rather curious. Jeremy laughs, something high and throaty. 

“Oh, yeah. But it’s not her scene. I was kind of surprised when Michael said he invited you to join us. Pleasantly, I mean.” He adds, seeing the confusion on your face. 

“I was surprised myself,” you offer softly as Michael holds the blunt to his lips and lights it carefully, inhaling deeply as his eyes flutter shut. Handsome is a word that comes to mind, but you dismiss it almost immediately. 

You look down at the ground under your feet, uneven rocks and a few cigarette butts littered beneath your combat boots. You hear Michael exhale heavily and the familiar scent of earth and fire fills your nostrils. Michael’s shoulder brushes yours as he extends his forearm past you and hands the blunt to Jeremy. 

You lean back just a bit, careful to keep your balance as you keep your knees pressed tightly together, arms at your sides to stabilize yourself on your makeshift seat. The same process goes for Jeremy, taking in a deep drag of smoke and exhaling a few minutes later. 

The taller boy tried to pass the blunt to you, and you examine the mouth piece, raising an eyebrow. “Ew,” you say out loud. Michael turns to you, and Jeremy crosses one leg over the other. “Ew what?” The blue-hoodied boy asks, a slight offense in his tone. 

“Boy spit,” you say simply. Michael frowns, taking the blunt from Jeremy’s hand. 

“How do you intend to get high then?” The shorter of the two faces away from you long enough to take in a deep inhale, holding it for a moment before passing the weed back to Jeremy and exhaling slowly. 

“You could shotgun it to me,” you say casually, and all of a sudden, Michael starts to cough. Jeremy lets out a laugh that you didn’t know he was capable of producing, something between a snicker and a giggle. 

“Yeah, Michael, give her a shottie!” He encourages it with another laugh, and you give him a look as if to ask what could possibly be so funny. 

Michael stiffens next to you and doesn’t say another word, reaching his hand out to Jeremy to ask for the blunt back. The brunette boy took another hit and stood from the turf, handing the blunt back to Michael. “I’m good,” he says, stumbling on the rocks as he stands. 

You’re watching Jeremy, listening to Michael inhale deeply and still a little confused as to what the joke was. Before you can really process what’s happening, you feel the soft pressure of two fingers under your chin, turning your face slowly. You eyes meet Michael’s, and his are half-lidded as he tilts your head up just a bit and brushes his thumb against your lower lip. 

Your eyes widen and you shiver, involuntarily parting your lips some. Your brain can’t quite keep up with what’s happening, and before you know it, you feel the brush of warm lips on yours. Just a whisper, a ghosting of attention as you’re suddenly aware that smoke is pouring into your mouth. 

You inhale slowly, a hand reaching up to lie on Michael’s shoulder as you accept the smoke, dropping your hand the second he pulls away from your face. You close your eyes tightly, holding the burning air in your lungs as long as you can before facing forward and exhaling, your head reeling. 

Michael cleared his throat and took one more hit, snubbing the half-smoked blunt out on the bottom of his shoe and putting it back into a zippered pocket of his backpack. 

Jeremy’s voice is sharp under the bleachers, your head swimming as you start to feel a little lighter than before, a little more calm and a little more carefree. “We should get out there,” he says definitively, and you look over at Michael. 

Your heart skips a beat, your lips feeling the phantom sensation of his own covering them-for such a brief moment. You exhale a little louder than you meant to, almost a sigh as you gaze at him. Michael nods, looking up at his friend. “You’re right,” he says quietly, not quite as bubbly as before. 

He seems to be lost in thought, but you couldn’t push it right now. Though it was only one hit, you felt completely contented, and wanted to enjoy these few moments. 

Gym class was only about fifteen minutes in, and you were ready to settle with your two new friends above the bleachers. Jeremy held one of your hands as the three of you ascended the stairs, both boys slightly nervous you might fall, even after only one hit. 

Once you were finally settled in the same positions you were in the day before, you took in a deep breath of fresh air. “I love fall,” you say to no one in particular. You open up your messenger bag and pull out the two cans of soda, holding out each of your hands in offering to the two teenagers in front of you. 

They both offer a quiet ‘thanks’, and you lean back onto the metal bench beneath you. “So, why New Jersey?” Jeremy asks suddenly, popping the tab on his Surge and taking a big gulp. 

“I was born here,” you explain, staring up into the grey sky. “And my dad...he’s an investigative journalist. He’s doing some research here.” 

Michael perks up a bit at this. “Like...paranormal investigation?” 

Jeremy playfully smacks his forearm. “Not likely,” he says to his friend. But you shake your head.

“Sometimes. Right now, it’s more in the realm of science fiction. Or. He seems to think non-fiction.” 

You purse your lips in thought, and hear Michael’s tab pop open, a few sips of nostalgic soda passing through his lips quietly. 

“What do you mean?” Jeremy prompts, casually tapping his fingers on the edge of the seat beneath him. 

“He’s investigating these tiny nano computer pills. I guess he’s heard that some kids in this town have taken them,” you say with a shrug. 

Michael’s voice sounds strained. “SQUIPS?” 

You look down at him, catching a quick smack from Jeremy on Michael’s hoodie-clad arm. 

“Yes,” you answer slowly. “So you’ve heard of them.” 

Jeremy seems to be glaring at Michael, and you feel suddenly uneasy. Oh, no. Was Michael currently squipped? Is that why things seemed to be going so well between you two? Panic settled in your chest for a moment until Jeremy finally sighed, either mad at Michael’s initial response, or his lack thereof now. 

“Y/N...I really hope this stays between us...” he inhales shakily. “Christine knows, and so does Michael. There’s someone else who knows about this, but beyond that, you’re going to be the only other person I tell. I took a SQUIP. A few years ago. It’s not active anymore. I really hope that this doesn’t change anything. I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want you to be scared of me, I swear I haven’t had any problems since I deactivated it.” 

Your lips were parted slightly in confusion, and you were unsure whether to laugh or accept his truth. So much was happening so quickly, and you decided that you would just drop it for now. You couldn’t be sure how serious he was, and you just wanted to enjoy what was left of the buzz you had. 

You nod slowly, and return your gaze back up to the sky. “It’s going to rain,” You say matter-of-factly, and you hear both of the boys in front of you exhale slowly, almost in relief.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time lunch rolls around, your buzz is completely gone. You’re not sure if you remember anything from English, but you’re pretty sure you remember enough from Math to be able to complete the homework. 

You stand in line for lunch, and feel a tap on your shoulder from behind. “Guess who!” You hear a perky chirp over your shoulder, and turn to face Christine. 

“Hey!” You give her a one-armed hug, and she returns the favor by throwing both of her arms around your neck. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she says, a wide smile plastered across her small features. You laugh a little, moving forward in the line and picking up half of a wrapped sandwich and an apple, placing them on your tray. 

“At lunch?”

“At our school,” the small girl replies, bouncing on her toes as you both checkout and she leads you to her table. 

You truly have no idea what that means, but you’re thankful for the compliment anyway. You sit across the table from Michael, who currently had short fingers balling the material of his hoodie at his shoulder. The same shoulder your hand was holding onto earlier when....

You feel your face start to get hot and desperately push the thought from your mind, tuning into the conversation now. 

“Please, Mikey. Just one little date. I’ll buy you a corsage and everything.” 

You can see that Michael is visibly uncomfortable, the same arm that’s being clung to pushing a fork deep into cafeteria mashed potatoes. This must be Rich, if any of what Jenna said was true. 

Jeremy scoffed. “Give it up, Rich. Michael already told you he can’t go to the Halloween dance with you. If you don’t stop, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to sit.” 

The boy in the red hoodie continued to push around potatoes on his plate, tense, but ignoring the unwanted advances of the smaller boy at his side. 

“Yeah, but /why/ can’t you, Mikey? You can’t even give me a reason.” 

You clear your throat loudly, a sudden confidence overcoming you. Christine’s head snaps toward you, and Michael’s eyes rise to meet yours. 

“Michael just told me this morning that he’d go to the Halloween dance with me, actually.” 

Michael’s mouth opens in surprise and he nods slowly, Rich’s grip finally easing on his shoulder. You start to unwrap your sandwich, crossing your legs under the table. 

“Is that a good enough reason?” You ask, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear and meeting Rich’s eyes now. 

The tattooed boy frowns. “I’m going to break you one day, Mikey. Just you wait.” He seems to curl into himself, leaning over his own plate of room temperature mashed potatoes now. 

Michael mouths a silent ‘thank you’, and you shrug. You saw a friend in trouble and offered a solution, nothing wrong with that. It’s not like you guys really had to go to the dance together now, right? 

Christine broke the comfortable quiet after a few minutes, swallowing a bite of her salad. “Y/N, I heard your dad is the guy who wrote the book about the yetis in Canada. He was on Ellen, right?” 

You nod to confirm, taking a bite of your sandwich now. “Yes,” you say slowly. You don’t want to mention the SQUIPS again, remembering the conversation that was drudged up last time. 

“Traveling must be fun,” she pushes gently, clearly trying to make friendly conversation. 

“Starting over is hard,” you counter. “And my dad’s busy. My mom’s a nurse, so she’s always out of the house. I spend most nights utterly alone. It’s nice to have some friends here, though....I used to play D&D in Canada. But I’ll find something to fill my time here soon enough.” 

Michael glances over at Jeremy, and Jeremy gives a small nod. You swear you see Christine nod, too, but you aren’t sure if you mind is playing tricks on you. 

“Jeremy and I are hanging out tonight, if you want to stop by or anything. If you’re, you know, lonely or whatever. Plus, I have crystal pepsi. Which, no offense, is ten times better than Surge.” 

You give a soft smile to the nervous boy and raise your apple to your lips, taking a small bite. “I think the reason I love Surge so much,” you say to no one in particular, maybe to Michael. “Is because it has such a strong fruit flavor. I imagine it’s probably what a papou fruit tastes like.” You pause, then add. “It’s a fruit from-“ 

“-Kingdom hearts,” he finishes slowly. 

“Yes.” 

You swear that out of the corner of your eye, you see Christine lean into Jeremy and whisper something. But it was too far away to make out what it could possibly be.


	7. Chapter 7

After lunch, your new found friend group parts ways. You’re excited for woodshop because you’ll get to ask a little more about Rich, but when you enter the class, Christine is nowhere to be seen. 

You sit at the same spot you did the day before, fastening your goggles to your head. You pick out the piece of wood you were working on yesterday from the pile in the center of the desk, your name scribbled at the bottom of the plank. 

Someone sits beside you, where Christine normally sits, but from the wave of vanilla perfume, you realize quickly who it is. “Bonjour,” a tinny voice mispronounces at you. 

You meet Brooke’s un-goggled gaze, seeing Chloe lean on the edge of the workbench, her elbows flush on the table in front of her.   
“We noticed that you were sitting at the loser table today,” she says with a hint of malice in her tone. 

You shrug a little, avoiding eye contact with her as you pull a pencil from your bag, ready to focus on work and not this trivial social stuff. “Maybe I’m a loser, then,” you reply shortly. 

Brooke whines a little, Chloe flipping her hair over her shoulder and clasping her hands in front of her as she stands up straight. “Right, but, Y/N, yesterday when you were sitting with us...didn’t you feel cool? Do you really want to spend your last year in high school at a new school, hanging out with the unpopular kids?” 

Chloe’s pink manicured nails tap on the desk in front of her now, as if to emphasize her point. “Actually,” you reply, lining up a ruler and making a few marks on your plank of wood. “I felt ignored at your table. I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I’m okay with my choices.” 

Brooke jumps up from her seat, grabbing Chloe’s arm in hers-the same way she had done to you the previous day. “Just give up on her, girl!”

Almost seamlessly, Christine is in her seat beside you, huffing a bit as she settled her backpack next to her feet beneath the table. 

“Jeremy and I were talking and I lost track of time before class...thank you for that, though.” 

You turn your head to look at her, a small small on her face. “For what?” 

“For not ditching us so you could be with the cool kids. A lot of people wouldn’t have made the same choice.” 

You give her a soft small in return, your hands working to make the last few marks on your piece of wood in front of you. “I like you guys,” you say simply. 

You settle into casual conversation with Christine, mostly about some new kind of performance art Jeremy and she are planning on doing later on in the week. They really do seem very infatuated with each other. 

————-

You don’t see Michael on the bus ride home, and you vaguely recall that he mentioned his car would be ready sometime in the middle of this week. You try not to let the disappointment show on your face when a teenage boy-who was not wearing a hoodie of any kind-slides in beside you. 

Your fingers press aggressively on each button of your gameboy, the nameless boy’s voice hitting your ears so much differently than either Michael or Jeremy’s voice normally does. It’s only been a few days, but you’ve grown accustomed to the presence of your new friends.

You’re exploring a desert world, jumping up to grab every star and power up you can, and you find that in your concentration on your game, the bus ride goes by quicker than normal. 

Before you know it, your shuffling past the boy on the outside of your seat, and stepping off the large yellow vehicle. You glance over at your neighbor’s house, a green p.t cruiser parked in the driveway. For a moment, you’re a little hurt that you got no warning that you’d be alone on the bus. 

Though, you remind yourself, it’s not like you and Michael are all that close just yet. 

You’re greeted by a familiar weight on your chest the minute you open your front door, the family dog licking your cheek excitedly. You push him down, kicking your shoes off at the door. You carefully unzip your hoodie, and recognize two familiar voices in the kitchen. 

Oh! Mom’s home! You smile some, hanging your hoodie up at the front door and heading toward the room where the voices are carrying from. You notice that your parents must have been busy today, as all of your familiar furniture is placed around the living room. You hope to yourself that your bed has been set up, as well. 

You enter the kitchen, immediately swinging the fridge door open and opt for a bottle of water this time around, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink as you close the door behind you. Your smile is met with four concerned eyes, and you feel your face fall a little. 

Were you caught at school today? Did the coach call your parents and tell them you’ve been sitting out on gym class? Did one of your teacher notice the marijuana smell on you and rat you out? You’re trying to figure out if maybe you left something out in your room that either of your pets could get into. 

“Honey,” you mom starts, impossibly soft when she speaks. Her hands are clasped in your father’s, lying in front of the pair on the kitchen table. This is her bad news voice, the one she always uses when she tells you you’re going to be moving again. Surely not this soon, right? 

You cross the kitchen carefully, truthfully a little nervous of what could come next. Your father gestures with his head for you to sit at a seat across the table. 

“Your father and I both know how you feel about this, and we hate to ask...but, Y/N...we’ve found out a little more about the SQUIPS. And we could really use your he-“ 

You cut your mother off, setting your water bottle on the table in front of you and crossing your arms over your chest. You feel the scrape of the vinyl graphic print on the front of your shirt against your forearms, but you don’t care right now. 

“No. I’m not going to do your bidding.” 

Your father’s hands untangle from your mothers, a stern fist coming down calmly onto the table. The sound isn’t enough to make you jump, but enough for you to understand that your father is angry now. 

Your mother gives you a pleading look, eyes soft and full of unspoken apologies. 

“You make it sound as if we ask something unreasonable. As if I’m some super villain who is making his child go out and collect information on his enemies! I’ll have you know that your mother treated a boy today-just two towns over. He’s barely twenty one, and your mother had to recommend him to be sent in for a psychiatric evaluation.” 

You roll your eyes, your fingertips wrapping around your own forearm and squeezing tightly, keeping you grounding for this asinine conversation. 

Your mother chimes in, voice exponentially more kind than your father’s is right now. “Honey, he took it so he could pass his final exams his senior year. He started at the community college and he told me that he could actually see someone speaking to him, telling him what to do. It eventually started telling him to do awful things, including...” she pauses, glances at your father, then continues. “Including hurting himself.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, reflecting on your earlier conversation with Jeremy. He said his SQUIP wasn’t activate anymore. “Why doesn’t he just deactivate it?” 

Your parents share a look, and your mother takes her hands off of the table, smoothing the front of her scrubs. “Honey...there’s no way to deactivate a SQUIP once you take one. Your father and I just want to make sure that you know what’s hiding in this town.” 

Your eyebrows are knit together, your lips a soft ‘o’ as you stare in disbelief at both of your parents. Either they were lying, or Jeremy was. It made your stomach tighten slightly. What if there really was some nefarious plot amongst the teenagers in this town, trading SQUIPS and hurting others. 

You hadn’t seen any evidence of it yet, though. But maybe that was the point...

“So,” your father clears his throat and continues. “We want to put a stop to this, and find the source. We were thinking maybe if you ask around, you could find out if someone at your new school is selling them.” 

Betrayal burns deep in your chest. They weren’t concerned for your safety at all, it seemed. Your mother, maybe, but your father just wanted answers. Stupid answers to stupid questions. If he wanted to know so badly, why couldn’t he hire a local kid to ask around? Why couldn’t he go and ask himself? Is this the reason he had a child? 

You clench your jaw, pushing back from the table and turning to storm off to your room. You stop in the entrance of the kitchen, turning back to face your parents once again. Your mothers eyes still plead with you, as your father shoots daggers from his. 

“I’ve already asked, pops. No one I’ve met knows anything.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to try harder,” he snaps out. Your mother gives a small smack to his shoulder, harshly muttering his name under her breath in a scold. 

“I’m going to a friend’s house,” is all you can say back, finally pulling your angry glare away from your father and heading off to your room to grab a few things to bring with you over to Michael’s house, just in case. 

You bring a change of clothes, your gameboy and charger, your wallet, headphones, your cell phone and charger, and finally pack your hair brush. You can’t imagine you’ll be more than a few hours, at least at your neighbor’s house. 

But you can’t quote think that far ahead. All you know right now is that you can’t stand to be here for one more second.


	8. Chapter 8

Your usual messenger bag’s strap is clutched firmly at your chest as you walk up the paved stone stairs leading the way to your neighbor’s front door. 

You ring the doorbell, and wait patiently as you feel your palms start to sweat. Although Michael’s car is in the driveway, you’re suddenly riddled with anxiety that maybe he isn’t home, and maybe that he doesn’t actually want you to come over tonight. 

You almost wish that you had gotten Christine’s phone number, or that you hadn’t blown Brooke off so quickly. You knew for sure you couldn’t just go back home right now, no matter who does or doesn’t answer this door. 

Your worrying is halted quickly, the green front door swinging open and a perky blonde woman standing in front of you. “Hi there!” 

To assume this woman to be one of Michael’s mothers is not a far stretch, as you remember what your father said about the couple living next door. 

“I’m Brandy-my wife isn’t home right now, but she should be here for dinner. You must be here for Michael and Jeremy! You will be staying for dinner, won’t you?” 

You nod, trying to give a warm smile through the tight feeling in your chest. You were never the best at introductions, and actually stepping into Michael’s home felt a little weird. Especially when you didn’t see your friend anywhere in sight. 

Of course you’d hung out at friend’s houses before, but never any that had such nice smiles- you shake your head as if to physically remove the though, wishing your brain had the same mechanics as an etch-a-sketch. 

“I’m Y/N, and dinner sounds great.” you say you step inside the threshold and begin to take your shoes off behind the door, setting them next to the white wire rack where you can see Jeremy’s high tops placed. 

“Michael’s told us so much about you,” she gushes, and you can’t help but blush at the idea that you may have been dinner conversation for his small family. “But, he didn’t mention if you have any special dietary restrictions- we eat mostly vegetarian in this house, if that’s alright with you.” 

You’re a little off-put by how friendly she is, but you realize that the apple doesn’t usually fall far from the tree and realize that this woman definitely had a large hand in raising your sweet friend. 

You ponder for a moment, fidgeting with the strap of your messenger bag, if people have the same thought about you when they meet your father. You sincerely hope not. 

Brandy closes the large green door and locks it behind her, passing you to return to the kitchen where she’s been preparing what looks like a large salad. You eyes scan the room, taking in the set up. 

There is a large staircase to your left, and to the left of that is a wall that separates the living room, and whatever else might be downstairs. You’re currently standing in a very small dining area, the kitchen table only six or so feet away from you as you stand in the entry of the lovey home. 

To your right, through a low door frame is the kitchen. Peering in, it looks as though there might be a pantry or maybe a laundry room in there, but you’re not sure. 

Brandy is humming to herself quietly as she rinses her hands under the slightly steaming water of the faucet. The blonde wipes her hands on a small dish towel she’s laid beside her cutting board, covered in leafy greens. 

“Do you need any help with dinner?” You ask, feeling suddenly unsure of how to be a guest. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in this position, meeting parents, and you’re wanting to make a good impression. 

Her petite nose crinkles some as she throws her head back in a soft laugh. “Oh, honey, no! You’re so sweet. Mikey’s room is at the top of the stairs. It’s got some caution tape stuck up to the front door-you really can’t miss it. And the bathroom is to the left, if you need to stop there first.” 

You give a slight nod, turning and reaching your hand out to support yourself using the banister as you ascend the staircase. You can hear soft action noises and eight bit music pouring out from behind the door, followed by an enthusiastic. “See! I told you so!” 

You can’t help but crack a small smile, noticing how much more upbeat Michael’s voice sounded in comparison to how he’d been acting all day, at least every time you’d seen him. 

You tentatively reach your hand out and let your knuckles tap on the door, jumping a little yourself from how loud the sound ended up being in the otherwise quiet hallway. 

Jeremy’s familiar face greets you as he swings Michael’s bedroom door open, the red-hoodied boy sitting on the edge of his bed, a game controller in his hand as he turns over his shoulder to call out a quick “Hey!”. 

You step into the boy’s bedroom, Jeremy returning back to his place beside Michael as they un-pause their game and begin playing again. You look at the large screen their respective characters and frantically moving about on, and recognize it immediately. 

“Apocalypse of the damned?” You ask aloud, closing Michael’s bedroom door behind you and sitting toward the front of Michael’s bed. His blanket is half pulled back, as if this is the exact way he left it when he left for school this morning. 

“Yeah, you want to play?” Jeremy asks, almost breathlessly. The bed shakes just a bit as the boys seem to move the same way their characters are, and you can tell they know exactly what they’re doing. It’s almost endearing, to catch a glimpse of two teenage boys in their natural habitat. 

“Sure, I’ll take next turn.” There are multiple anime and video game posters on the walls, and a bright blue carpet covering Michael’s floor. There isn’t much furniture, just a desk and two bookshelves. You see a collection of unboxed funko pops lining multiple shelves, along with a few empty bottles of eighties and nineties drinks. 

You notice his galaxy print sheets, allowing your hand to reach out and feel over the silky smooth material, frowning a little as your hand comes in contact with a hard object propped near his pillows. 

You pick up the book from his bed, and although you somewhat feel like you’re invading Michael’s privacy, you also feel like he’s been invading yours. You’re quiet as your trembling fingers pull open the cover of your father’s most recent novel. 

Why was Michael reading this? Did he know about your father’s work before you met? You hear the familiar power up sound, signifying the end of level nine on the video game, and feel weight shift on the end of the bed. 

“Oh, Y/N....” Michael’s voice sounds deflated, but you don’t look up. 

Your voice is stern when you do answer, your eyes scanning over the first few paragraphs of the introduction. “Why do you have this?” 

Michael sets his controller down on his bed, beside Jeremy’s hip, and makes his way to where the blanket is pulled back. He sits beside you, pulling his legs up cross-cross in front of him. 

You close the book and set it down in his lap, watching as his wrists bend at an angle you didn’t think possible as he fidgeted with his fingers. 

“I just...I guess I wanted to know who I was living next to? I looked your dad up on Wikipedia and it was so surreal to see my classmates name on the internet, yknow? And I guess it was curiosity. I’m sure you already know, but his encounter with the lake monster in British Columbia, it’s-“ 

You shake your head. “I haven’t read any of his books.” 

“Why not?” The boy’s hands stall for a moment as he shifts a bit on the bed and reaches up to adjust his glasses. He still sounds far more friendly, maybe even more comfortable, than he did at school. 

You shrug. “Because I’ve had to adjust a lot of my life for the sake of his work. I’ve missed countless milestones, and given up a lot of friendships. I move once a year and I don’t even get any credit for the research I do help with. Not to mention- I live with the guy. I hear his ramblings, I don’t want to invest more of my time giving his stupid work attention.” 

Michael nods a little, but you meet Jeremy’s eyes now instead. He’s turned a bit, one leg hanging off the bed as he faces you and Michael now. “My dad and I haven’t always gotten along,” the taller boy says, shrugging his shoulders as if it weren’t a big deal. 

“It’s just frustrating,” you continue. “I feel completely stifled. You know, he’s so scared of the government and modern technology, I still have a flip phone. So does he. It took, like, a year of convincing before he’d let me get an Xbox...and even then, I’m not allowed to do any kind of online gaming.” 

You roll your eyes, leaning back into Michael’s plush pillows behind you. Jeremy speaks again, his voice more calm and even-toned than you remember it usually being. “That really sucks,” he says sincerely. 

“It’s fine. I don’t actually like to talk about it,” you say after a moment, but give a soft small in Jeremy’s direction anyway, to show that there’s no malice. 

“You know, technology isn’t evil as long as it’s in the right hands.” Michael’s voice is energetic once again as he resumes his restless thumb-twiddling. “Or, as long as you’re using it for the right reasons. That’s why things went sour so fast with Jeremy’s SQUIP....Y/N...are you mad at me?” 

“No,” you say with a laugh, nudging your shoulder against Michael’s and reaching out to ruffle his hair gently. “I just thought maybe you were a big nerdy fanboy and were using me to get to my dad.” 

Michael lifts the book up, that stupidly adorable smile plastered across his features as he studies the author photo on the back of the book. “I don’t know, Y/N, now that you mention it...he’s pretty hot.” 

You shake your head, pulling your messenger bag off of your body and setting it beside the bed. “I believe someone said I could be player two?” 

Jeremy hands you his wireless controller, and as your fingers brush, you look past the thick frames of his glasses and into his eyes. You remember your father’s words earlier, that the SQUIPS can’t be deactivated once they’re ingested. 

The boy in the blue hoodie smiles warmly, and you abandon all suspicion for the time being, allowing yourself to enjoy having friends again. 

———

Jeremy leaves after an hour, but you and Michael hardly notice, save for a few quick “goodbyes” and “nice hanging out with you”s. You and the red-hoodied boy have shared at least ten high fives at this point, and have almost completed the fifteenth level of the game. 

Michael hits the pause button, setting his controller on the floor in front of him and twisting his wrists some to stretch his hands. “Christine never wants to play video games with us,” he says as he pulls stretches his arms above his head, his hoodie pulling up to show just a thin band of skin above his waistband...not that you notice, of course. 

You set the controller down the same fashion, crossing one leg over the other and taking a moment to shake out your cramped hands, as well. “It was really cool of you to invite me over...I’m sorry I was so weird about the book.” 

Michael shakes his head, screwing his face up a bit as he brings his arms back down, clapping his palms on his own thighs lightly. “No, I get it. I don’t know how I’d feel if the roles were reversed...and by the way, thank you for today. At lunch. Truthfully, Jeremy’s a little worried about telling you too much because of, yknow...” he gestures behind him, to the book on the bed. 

Your heart clenches some, an odd sense of shame washing over you. Ah. The realization hits you: you’re not to be trusted. And maybe rightfully so. But, it seems that Michael is opening up some. 

“Rich is who Jeremy got the SQUIP from,” he explains, standing so he could cross his room and make his way to his desk. You noticed the HUFF socks he wore, covered in small pot leaves, and wondered for a second if his mothers knew that he smoked. 

He shuffles through a cardboard box atop his desk, pulling out a singular can of Code Red Mountain Dew. You raise an eyebrow, standing yourself so that you can meet him at the desk. 

“This is what defeated the computers,” he says, and you don’t quite understand exactly how a limited edition Mountain Dew flavor could have such power, but you cross your arms over your chest and listen anyway. 

“Anyway, long story short, Jeremy and I were kind of there for Rich after everything went down. He kind of gravitated to me, but he’s just...” Michael frowns some, setting the can down and reaching up to adjust his glasses again. “He’s not my type.” 

You nod a little, and you have to admit, you’re disappointed. You yourself haven’t assigned a definitive label to your sexuality, and can’t expect others to. But, with Michael’s comments throughout the day, and the rumors you’ve heard, you’re pretty sure at this point that any chance of you and Michael being more than friends is out the window. 

“Is Jeremy?” 

Michael quirks an eyebrow himself now, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Is Jeremy what?”

“Your type?” You ask, pulling out his desk chair and sitting down slowly. 

Michael bends at the waist, doubling over in laughter. It’s a happy, light sound and it makes your heart flutter the tiniest bit. Apparently, the idea is hilarious to him. He can barely catch his breath, reaching out hand out to hold your knee to steady himself. 

“What?” 

After a moment, the red-hoodied boy calms down and releases your knee, standing up straight again. “Oh, Y/N. No. Jeremy’s not my type, either. Once upon a time, I might have thought so, but-“ 

With almost no warning, his bedroom door swings open, a medium-sized black cat running inside and coming directly up to Michael. The cat brushed against his shins, and the boy knelt down on one knee to scratch beneath the cat’s chin.

“Aw, Shadow- who’s a good wittle meowser?!” Michael’s eyes seemed to shine as he gave the cat small pets, talking in a baby voice to the small animal. 

You heart melted again, both at the tender way he handled the animal, and the thought of his fingers under your chin this very morning. 

A woman that you didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, and this woman looked much more like Michael. She had glasses herself, and the same tanned complexion. She looks younger than your own mother, long dark hair in two braids on either side of her head. 

“Dinner’s done,” she announces happily. And with that, you and Michael head downstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_( ͡❛ ͜ʖ ͡❛)_/¯ ur gonna smoke w/ Michael again

Dinner is actually a lot less awkward than you thought it would be. Michael’s mothers, Brandy and Chesa prepared a very fresh tasting salad, leafy and green with some fruits and nuts scattered about, complete with a homage vinaigrette. 

Multiple times throughout the dinner, both women bragged about their son. Be it his grades, his video game skill, or just his overall attitude. You can tell that he has a very supportive system here, and you crave to have the same. 

You finish your plate, as does Michael, as Brandy is still going on about her ‘amazing’ son. You agree with each sentiment, reveling in the blush that continued to creep into Michael’s cheeks as you and his parents gush on about what a wonderful person he is. 

You offer to help clear the table after dinner, and Brandy insists that you’re just too kind. Michael comes around to where you were sitting, and rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s about eight o’clock now...I don’t know if you have a curfew, but-“ 

“I don’t.” 

He smiles at you, and adjusts his glasses on his nose. “Perfect. Then...do you want to come down to the basement?” 

“What’s down there?” You rise from your seat, making sure you push the chair back in under the edge of the table, smoothing out the front of your shirt as you stand in front of your friend. 

“You’ll just have to come down and see,” he says in a sing-song voice, walking past you and to a door that you hadn’t noticed before, on the opposite end of the dining room. You follow closely, honestly a bit intrigued but also a little nervous. 

Through the door, you find yourself being led down wooden stairs that creak with each step. Luckily, there’s enough light coming up from whatever space the basement held, and you’re able to see each step as you venture down. 

“I have a bowl down here,” your friend offers in his usual upbeat tone. “So no ‘gross boy spit’, as you put it.” he finishes the sentiment with air quotes as he leads you to a brown leather couch in the middle of the basement. He gives a little bow and extends his arm out, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch. 

“Your mothers let you smoke down here?” Your voice is laced with disbelief as you follow his gesture to the couch, plopping down and bringing your legs up to bend at your knee, your legs now pulled up on the cushion beside you. 

“They’d rather I do it in the house than out on the streets,” he explains as he ducks below a pipe that protrudes from the basement ceiling, opening a door off to the left side of the small room. He emerges a moment later, a small glass pipe in one hand and a baggie in the other. 

Michael plops down next to you, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee, balancing the bowl on his leg for a moment as he holds his tongue between his lips in concentration, fumbling to open the ziplock bag full of green. 

You carefully reach out and pick the pipe up, holding it up in front of him, trying to be as helpful as possible. “Thanks,” he mumbles, pulling out a decent sized chunk from the bag and carefully picking it apart with his nails, laying the hollowed end of the pipe with sticky green leaves. 

“They’re really nice,” you say softly, watching as your new friend works. 

“You’re really nice,” the boy counters, eyes and hands still focused on the task at hand. You roll your eyes a little at the compliment, not wanting to read too much into it. 

Once the pipe is filled, you bring it back toward your own chest, looking down at the intricate swirled design along the neck of the glass. Michael stands suddenly, shuffling out of his hoodie, throwing it onto the coffee table that was a few feet away from the couch. He sits back down and puts his legs back into the same position, reaching over and grabbing the pipe from you. 

You hear the click of a lighter, and the familiar cracking sound of buds being burned as Michael takes the first hit, though you can’t remember when he’d pulled out a lighter. 

As you watch him hold the smoke in his lungs and bounce his ankle to some kind of beat you couldn’t hear, you were suddenly aware that he was in a black short-sleeved tee shirt, and you’d never seen him arms before. 

“Is that a pac-man tattoo?”

He smiles as he exhales, passing both the pipe and lighter to you. “Yeah, I got it two years ago...I was kinda worried I would hate it, but I’ve grown to love it more.” He holds his forearm out and leans toward you, giving you a much better view of the ink that painted his skin. 

You free hand reaches out to brush your fingertips over the black ink, mindlessly tracing over curve that created the majority of PacMan’s body. Michael’s hand clenches into a fist, and you realize in an instant that maybe touching his tattoo could he making him feel uncomfortable. “The line work is incredible,” you say finally. 

“Yeah, I went to a few different shops before I settled on an artist. My mom signed off for me to get it as a sixteenth birthday present.” 

You sit back some and take your own hit of the plant, inhaling deeply and holding it for a minute before you exhale and pass the small glass pipe back to Michael. “Is that how Rich was able to get so many tattoos?” 

Michael laughs, and the sound is warm and gentle and you swear to every god that’s ever existed you could listen to it all day. “I think he must know someone. That kid’s got, like, eighteen by now...at least.” 

Michael’s ankle never stops bouncing completely, but it does slow some as you continue to pass the small glass object back and forth. You take your last hit, your eyes feeling a little heavy and your throat feeling much more dry than it was a few moments ago. Above all else, you feel completely relaxed, lying your head back against the leather of the couch, closing your eyes for a moment as you enjoy the weightless feeling. 

“You know,” you break the silence after a few minutes, once you hear the soft clink of the glass pipe as Michael leaned forward and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You don’t actually have to go to the dance with me.” 

“What?” Michael sounded genuinely confused, and you turn your head, opening your eyes so you could see his face as you explained yourself. 

“At lunch, when I covered for you with Rich. We don’t have to go to the Halloween dance together.”

Michael scoffs, and you purse your lips in confusion to his response. “You’re not getting off that easy, Y/N. You made a commitment.” 

Your expression softens, and you give a soft laugh. Well, hey, if Michael was insisting that you two keep your date, who are you to argue? But, you can’t think of it as a date. No way. Just two friends hanging out. At a formal school function. With dancing involved. You look forward, a worried look painting your features again. 

Your new friend must sense some kind of distress, because it’s he who now leans his head back against the couch, looking over at you and lowering his voice, a much more genuine tone pouring past his lips. “Unless you don’t want to go...?”

You shake your head, lazily lifting your hand and gesturing as if to wave the thought away. “No...it’s just...” you giggle a little bit, realizing how slowly you’re speaking. You think you may have had one too many puffs at this point, your tongue feeling foreign in your mouth. “...I can’t dance,” you say with another little giggle, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

You hear a soft laugh come from Michael now, who is standing from the couch and bent at the waist, pushing the coffee table forward a few feet to give himself room. “Lucky for you, Miss Y/N, I’m the best dancer there is. As long as you follow my lead on Halloween, all will be good.” 

He faces you now and does a full wave with his arms, following it with a cabbage patch. You can’t even begin to try to stifle your laugh, full of endearment as you sit up on the couch and watch Michael bust a move right there. 

He’s rather adorable when he feels comfortable, and lets his bold personality come through. You wonder for a moment what happened to the quiet boy you met on the bleachers, and consider that maybe his reservation didn’t have anything to do with anything you did wrong during that first full interaction. 

“A man after my own heart,” you joke lightly, covering your chest dramatically with your hand as you laugh. 

You’re not sure if he’s always this charming and you never notice it, or if you’re both just very high, but you could get used to having him around. Even if it’s only ever as friends, his presence brings a new excitement to you that you can’t recall ever feeling before. 

He’s laughing with you as he sits back next to you on the couch, bringing one hand up to run through his own hair. “It’s been a really long time since I felt like anyone besides Jeremy was...laughing /with/ me.” 

You turn your body a little more so that you can face him properly, resting your elbow on the back of the couch and resting your cheek against your palm. “What does it normally feel like?” 

“Like everyone is laughing /at/ me, I guess. I keep telling myself that college will be here soon, and maybe I’ll find more people who appreciate me there. I guess I have this fantasy that in college I’ll suddenly become...I don’t know, cool, or something.” 

You frown slightly, seeing his face fall as his fingers nervously pick at a loose strand of denim on the thigh of his jeans. You wish so badly to embrace him, to comfort him. He exudes so much positive energy, yet it seems he keeps mine for himself. 

“Well, I don’t know if it matters, but I already think you’re the coolest.” You’re aware that your words are slightly slurred, though your mind is working at 100% capacity. 

He smiles, almost sadly, like he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t look up, his gaze fixated on the loose string he’s been messing with. “Nah, you’re just high.” 

You shake your head, sitting up and reaching for your phone that you can feel vibrating in your back pocket. “I think it when I’m sober, too,” you say before you open your flip phone. You assume it must be one of your parents, as you haven’t given your number to too many other people and you haven’t heard much from your Canadian friends this past week. 

Your father is on the line, asking where you’ve gone. You’re slightly annoyed, as it isn’t even nine o’clock yet, and explain that you’re next door. Your dad seems to soften at this, but insists that you come home right away, not feeling comfortable with you out at night until he has a ‘better feel of this town’. 

You hang up and sigh heavily. “My dad wants me home,” you explain, disappointment clear in your voice. “I hate to leave, especially right after we smoke...Are you going to be alright if I leave?” 

Michael looks up now, his eyes meeting yours and you’re not sure exactly why he’s looking at you the way he is, but he almost looks bewildered. Almost as if he isn’t used to anyone asking him what he needs. He nods slowly. 

“Thank you for coming over, I wasn’t sure if you would.” 

“Yeah, well...thanks for sitting with me on the bus. Except...not thank you for ditching me today, leaving me to fend for myself on the ride home.” 

Michael laughs, and the familiar butterfly sensation settles in your stomach again. 

“You know, I’m happy to give you rides. It’s not like I would have to go out of my way to pick you up.” 

“I...I’d like that a lot, actually. Will Jeremy mind?” 

Michael’s eyes meet yours once again, and the eye contact feels a little intense for some reason. “What does Jeremy have to do with me giving you a ride to school?” 

You swallow, aware once again just how dry your mouth is. “I...just assumed that you probably give Jeremy rides to school in the morning?” 

Michael shakes his head, still messing with the string on his pants as you rise off of the couch and slip your phone back into your pocket. “I used to. Jeremy usually drives Christine to and from school now, though. I do normally stop at seven-eleven before heading to hell, if that’s okay.”

Michael rises, as well, following you as you head up the stairs back to the dining room. “Hey, I’m just along for the ride,” you respond back, wondering if Michael was becoming your best friend, so far. 

He’s giving you weed, hanging out with you one on one, sitting across from you at his family dinner table, and offering advice...that’s what best friends do, isn’t it? 

Brandy is in the kitchen, still working on the dishes from dinner at the sink. You duck your head into the doorframe and offer a quick “Thank you again,” which is met with a friendly “Anytime!” You’re pretty sure it’s a sincere offer, too. 

You’re slipping your shoes on at the front door, Michael leaning back against his kitchen table as he watches you. “Oh-“ you say as you straighten your back, your shoes now tied securely. “I left my bag in your room.” 

He nods in the direction of the stairs, folding his arms over his chest. “You know where it is,” he says simply, and you feel a little awakes about venturing into his room alone. But, again, you can’t help but think that this might mean that he trusts you. 

You head up, careful not to scuff your shoes against the perfectly stained steps of the wooden staircase. His bedroom is still open, and the minute you enter, you’re aware that you’re alone in a teenage boy’s room. It feels weird, and kind of exciting, if you’re honest with yourself. 

Michael’s cat is curled up on his comforter, picking up it’s head and meowing softly at you as you grab your bag off the floor. “Goodbye, Shadow,” you say softly, holding your hand out for the cat to sniff. After deciding that you are no threat, the small black cat bumps it’s forehead against your fingers, and you head back downstairs. 

Michael gives you a small wave as you look over your shoulder, halfway out the front door. 

“I’ll go ahead and walk over in the morning, what time should I be here?” 

“Six thirty is good, if we want to make it to seven-eleven before the big morning coffee rush.” 

“It’s a date,” you say happily, closing the large wooden door behind you, and crossing his front lawn over to your own. 

You realize that you’re walking just a little unsteady, your high still going strong. You wished you could’ve stayed longer, just enjoying being in a loving household with your new friend. You decide it might be best to avoid your own family tonight, and even though you hear your name being called from the kitchen as you take off your shoes in the doorway, you ignore it. 

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that someone has, in fact, set up your bed, and you toss your bag to the side, crawling under the covers and not bothering to change. The last thoughts you have before drifting of to sleep are the soft sounds of Michael’s laugh, and the even softer feeling of his skin under your fingertips as you traced his tattoo.


	10. Chapter 10

Waking up to the sound of the tri-tone alarm chirping in your back pocket was never an ideal. This morning, however, you were happy for the daily alarm that went off at six o’clock sharp. You felt a little groggy, and you’re pretty sure it’s from falling asleep so quickly after smoking. 

It wasn’t until you were already dressed in a similar outfit to the one you’d worn yesterday, and packing your bag back up with notebooks that you realized you didn’t do any of your homework last night. Fuck. That means you’ll have to finish it during gym. 

It’s six twenty-eight when you make your way next door, and Michael is already in his driveway, dancing in place. You have to admit...he does have some sick moves. 

He’s got his headphones on, but once he notices you approaching, he slips them off and opens the back passenger side door, throwing his back pack in and opening your door for you. 

Trying to be helpful, you gently close his back door and slide into the passenger seat, pulling your seatbelt across your body once you’re settled. Michael’s headphones are still around his neck, and you’re pretty sure you can hear the faint backtrack of a Bob Marley song coming through. 

“G’morning,” you say tiredly. 

“Morning! How did you sleep? I didn’t see your bedroom light come on at all after you left-ha...I mean...not that I was watching or anything.” He has one arm around the back of your seat as he turns to watch behind him, making sure no cars are coming as you pull out onto the main road. 

You quirk an eyebrow at his weird comment, but don’t push it. He was just being a good friend and making sure you got home safe, right? Of course, you only went a hundred feet away to return home. But, still, he had been looking out for you. Right? 

As the driver faces front again, you notice that his left leg is bouncing quite a bit and his long fingers are rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. You let out a yawn, stretching a bit and then settling down into your seat. 

“I’m still super tired...but thank you for checking on me. Hey, Michael, are you sure coffee is the best thing for you this morning?” 

He gives a hearty laugh, tapping his fingers a little harder against the steering wheel as his eyes focus on a red stop, visible through the slightly fogged glass of the windshield. “Who said anything about coffee? I start my morning with the breakfast of champions-Slurpees!” 

He finishes the sentence with quite the flair, a singsong tone coming through. You silently wonder how anyone can have this much energy-and even if it’s not caffeine, the sugar might not be the best idea, either. 

“Cherry, Cola, Grape, or Blue Raspberry?” You ask, looking out the window and watching the trees pass by. Even with the noise being emitted from the headphones around your friend’s neck, this is a much more peaceful morning experience than riding the bus. 

“Oh, Blue Raspberry, obviously! Jeremy usually goes for Cherry- what’s your pleasure, Y/N?” The car pivots as you turn onto the main road. 

“Grape is superior,” you answer without any hesitation. 

He makes some kind of noise of agreement, and then you hear him start to hum along with the music in his headphones. You perk up a little bit, finally recognizing what he’s listening to. 

“I wanna love you!” 

The tapping on the steering wheel stops as Michael pulls into a parking spot in front of the door of the closest seven-eleven. “You...what?” Michael’s turned to face you now, his eyes wide. 

“The song,” you explain. “That’s what you’re listening to, right? ‘I Wanna Love You’ by Bob Marley?” You wonder for a moment if you’ve guessed incorrectly, considering how taken aback your friend seems. 

The boy’s ever expressive face softens, and he begins to laugh, a little harder than necessary. “O-oh...right. Yeah, it’s...I love Marley. I didn’t know you partook in reggae tunes.” 

“I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me yet,” is the response he’s given as you unfasten your seatbelt and exit the vehicle. You can’t help but take in a deep breath of cool morning air, closing your eyes for a minute before you head inside, Michael close behind. 

The teenage boy you’re with seems to know the cashier here, giving her a friendly wave and addressing her by name as he makes his way to the Big Gulp machine. 

Your attention isn’t on him for a moment, as you pass by a display for Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Although you’re at Michael’s side, your eyes are focused on the two-litre bottles. Damn. 

You’d meant to ask more about SQUIPS last night, but after smoking in the basement, it had slipped your mind. Standing in the seven-eleven, a million questions flood your mind about how on earth a limited edition soda flavor could shut down a super computer. 

The sudden feeling of an ice-cold paper cup being pressed into your hand commands your attention, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re holding a grape slurpee Michael has poured for you. 

He’s even already put a straw into the hole of the clear plastic dome lid. “Thank you,” you say quietly, raising the straw to your lips and taking a sip. 

You scrunch up your nose. It’s much sweeter than you remember it being, almost as sweet as the person who poured it for you. You shake your head a little, taking another sip and watching as Michael dances a little in place while he pours his own paper cup full of blue slush. 

“You eat this for breakfast /every/ day?” 

“Technically, Y/N,” he lowers his voice dramatically, very playfully. “I drink it. And I drink it with conviction.” He laughs, almost to himself, and fastens a kid onto his cup, ripping open a straw and taking a sip. 

His voice is much lighter and higher when he speaks again, turning on his heel and making his way up to the counter. “It’s a ritual more than anything, at this point. I thrive when I have a routine.” 

Before you can object or offer to pay yourself, Michael’s already swiping a debit card. You scoff a little, gently tapping the back of your hand against his forearm. “You didn’t even give me a chance to offer to pay.” 

Michael shoves his debit card back into his hoodie pocket and shakes his head, resuming his slurpee sipping and heading out the door. 

“You can get them next time,” he opens your door for you again, and as you slide in, you smile at the idea of a ‘next time’. 

Within minutes, you’re back on the road, and you’re pretty impressed with how skillfully Michael is able to drive with just one hand, his other still holding his drink. You notice the boy’s leg is still bouncing, and you wonder if that’s just a constant for him when he’s sober. 

Once the sugary aftertaste is mostly gone from your tongue, you set your slurpee down in the cup holder to your left. “Can I ask you something?” 

The teenage boy gives a small nod, sipping away on his straw as he pulls into the school parking lot. 

“How...or, I guess, why does Code Red Mountain Dew turn off a SQUIP?” 

Your friend sets his own drink beside him in the cup holder, and shrugs some. “I’m not one hundred percent sure how all of it works, honestly. What I do know if that regular Mountain Dew activates the pill, and the Code Red Mountain Dew deactivates it. There’s a very small reddit community that talks about it openly, but I’m not sure that anyone currently knows the science. I guess that’s probably what your dad is trying to figure out, right?” 

You sour a little at the mention of your father’s work, but you know deep down that Michael didn’t mean any harm by it. 

“I guess.” You pick your frozen grape drink back up and take a big sip, your temples throbbing with a minor brain freeze. “So does that mean Jeremy and Rich can’t drink regular Mountain Dew?”

The teenage boy guides the car into a parking spot and throws the gear shift up, his hand resting on top of the lever as he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out his phone. With just a few clicks on his phone screen, the music pouring from his white headphones abruptly halts. “What did you say?” 

“Well...it’s a computer slash pill that goes into your blood stream...and it implants into your brain. It doesn’t sound to me-based on what I’ve been told so far-that there’s some experimental surgery to remove the SQUIPS, right? So, what I’m asking, I guess, is what happens if Rich or Jeremy drinks regular Mountain Dew again? Does it reactivate? Have you guys ever tried it?”

“I...I don’t know. I know that Jeremy’s avoided all forms of the drink ever since everything went down.” He sniffles a little bit, and raises his hand up, curving his wrist as he wipes at his eyes beneath his glasses. “Sorry, I just. That was a really hard time for me. When everything happened with Jeremy.” 

Michael takes in a shaky breath and re-adjusts his glasses, his leg bouncing even more than it was just a few moments ago. 

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” you offer gently. You’re not exactly sure what compels you to do so, but you reach out and gently lie your hand on Michael’s thigh, giving a soft squeeze. His motions seem to slow down, and after a few seconds of the contact, he lays one hand on top of yours. 

It’s probably better that you don’t push anything else about SQUIPS right now, as upset as Michael seems. “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. This apology isn’t for your words, but just for the anxiety you can see rising inside your friend. 

Michael gives your hand a soft squeeze, not saying anything else as you both pull away and hop out of the car. You walk silently side by side through the small sea of teenagers in the parking lot and lining the sidewalk on the way to the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rich did what

You’ve never really been able to share a comfortable silence before, but you find comfort in the moments you have with Michael. 

In this moment, however, you wished desperately for nothing but silence. You had been sitting atop the familiar metal bleachers and trying to complete the homework you never even touched the previous night. 

Jeremy seemed a little disappointed when you declined the invitation to smoke under the bleachers, but you climbed to your usual spot anyway and sped through your book report. You were halfway through your math worksheet when the boys took their usual places a few benches below where you were seated. 

You hear a whistle blow on the field and you frown to yourself, knowing there’s only a few minutes left in gym class. Your friends are going on and on about Undead Exterminators, a video game which you’ve played through at least three times. 

“I’m telling you, bro, the only way to save Titania AND get the amulet without draining your energy bar is to go up the first ladder at the entrance and-“

“I love you, Jer-bear, but you’re wrong! The only way you could do it is if you go up the second ladder and get the amulet, then jump down onto the mummy’s tomb and then /fly/ up to rescue Titania.”

Re-reading the current equation you’re on four times in a row doesn’t help your brain comprehend anything you’re reading. You let out a noise of frustration and flip your pencil around, aggressively erasing the few lines of work you’ve started. You realize you’ve done the first half of the sheet and it’s entirely wrong-Much like the two boys arguing. 

“Actually,” you start, and it seems to pull the boys from their heated discussion, both looking up at you now. In the conversational lapse, you’re able to finally figure out what the question is asking, and you start to sketch out your work. 

“Michael’s half right. You have to go up the second ladder and grab the amulet. You /fly/ over to Titania and place the amulet around her neck, carry her down the ladder, and /jump/ over the mummy’s tomb.” 

Three things happen at the same time: the first being that you finish the problem you’re working on, deciding that half-right work is better than no work at all. The second is both teenage boys giving a long, drawn out “Oh,” when they realize that you’re right. And lastly, the class begins to head in from gym class. 

You pack away your homework and ignore when Michael hits Jeremy’s knee and says “See, I told you she was cool.” Had Jeremy said that you weren’t? And what else were they saying about you when you weren’t around? Probably nothing bad, but the thought of Michael discussing you with anyone makes your stomach flip nervously. 

Strangely enough, so does the thought of Jeremy talking about you...but in a completely different way. You wonder for a moment if you should ask Jeremy about the Mountain Dew, but quickly remember how upset it made your neighbor. Never again do you wish to see Michael cry, so you decide to let it be. 

———-

All throughout your first two classes, you swear that you catch Brooke staring at you multiple times. If you were a more conceited person, you might even think that you were the subject of her whispers to Chloe in math class. 

You try your best to brush it off, especially since you haven’t done anything that’s gossip worthy. At least, nothing you can think of. Previously, at your other schools, there had been some discussion once kids found out who your dad was. This seemed different, though. 

You found yourself clutching an orange cafeteria tray, making your way to your now-usual lunch table when a familiar face suddenly appeared in front of you. 

Jenna Rolan’s voice is much louder than you remember from your first day of school as she blocks your way, her hands on her hips. “Girl, you will never believe what people are saying about you!” 

You blink a few times, glancing over at your usual lunch table. No one seems to be looking at you, and for a moment, you wonder if anyone there would notice if you didn’t show up for lunch at all. 

Desperately, you wish you could be just a little stronger. You wish that Jenna’s plan didn’t work, and that you could ignore the curiosity that etched it’s way into your chest. But, you’re not, and you can’t. So, you take a deep breath and meet her glitter-painted eyes. “Try me.” 

“Well, Brooke heard from Chloe, that Jake said that Rich told him that...well...prepare yourself for this... that you’re going to the Halloween dance with Michael Mell. I told Brooke that there’s no way that’s true, but she told me I should just ask you for myself. So here I am.” 

You’re pretty sure that human brains aren’t designed to do that kind of mapping, and give up trying to figure out who said what to who. You furrow your brow in confusion as to what the big deal was, and try to step to Jenna’s side. “I am,” you confirm, frustrated when Jenna steps in front of you again. 

“Like a friend date or a date-date?” She asks. It doesn’t make sense to you how this is any of her business, but this seems like a very ‘Jenna’-type thing to do. You shrug, realizing that you don’t know the answer. 

“Jenna, I don’t know. We just made plans yesterday to go together. I don’t really know why or how it’s gotten around so fast, but it’s really not that interesting. Isn’t there a pregnancy pact or something everyone can talk about instead?” 

“Trust me, Michael Mell going to a school dance with a girl is a big deal. So...do you want it to be a date-date?” 

You freeze up, your shoulders tensing. This time, you know what the answer is, but you refuse to say it out loud. You realize that there’s no good way for this to play out. Sure, you could totally be honest and say that you do, and it gets back to Michael, and you die from embarrassment. 

You could also say no, and hope that it doesn’t come off as if you would outright reject Michael if it somehow got back to him. Neither option seems sound, so you shake your head and shrug again. “Jenna, I really don’t know what you’re getting at, but I just want to get to my table.” 

“I’m not stopping you,” she says somewhat defensively, finally stepping to the side and allowing you to breeze past her as you speed walk to the lunch table. Taking your usual seat across from Christine, you reach for the wrapped sandwich on your plate and sigh. This school really is hell. 

“What did Jenna Rolan want?” Jeremy sounds nothing but friendly, unfolding the top of his cafeteria milk carton. 

You shrug for the third time this period and keep your eyes down on your tray. “Just asking about homework,” you lie, not wanting to stir the pot...especially with Rich sitting at the end of the lunch table. 

——-

History class is the same old thing, no pun intended, and passes by rather quickly. You’re slightly annoyed by the mountain of assigned reading you’re given, but you’d rather that over an essay packet any day. 

You don’t remember too much about science class, because that’s the next class you share with any of the “popular” girls. Luckily, Jenna’s attention seems to be on her cell phone that she’s not-very-inconspicuously hiding under the desk. 

Unluckily for you, Brooke and Chloe don’t stop whispering behind their hands, seated at the table to your left...and you’re pretty sure you hear your name at least twice. 

Once you’re making your way down the hallway to wood shop, you’re for once thankful for the loud hallways. No gossipy whispers, no dirty looks. It’s just a pile of kids cramming down a narrow hallway, scurrying to get to wherever they need to go. There’s almost a calmness in the chaos. 

The hallways are hectic enough, however, that it causes you to be more than a few minutes late to your wood shop class. Luckily, Christine has saved your usual seat beside her. 

You greet her as you settle in, finding the piece of wood you’ve been marking. You weren’t late enough to miss the introduction to today’s lesson, your teacher going over all of the safety instructions for students who would be using the table saw today. 

Once your teacher finished his safety course, the petite actress bumps her elbow against yours. “Are you going to put on your goggles?” 

Slightly embarrassed, you slip on the pair that she’s offered you, and sigh as you double check your measurements etched in pencil on your class project. 

“I was thinking,” the girl beside you continues, her voice entirely too upbeat for how down you’re feeling. “Since you and Michael are going to the dance together, and Jeremy and I are going together...it might be fun for us to go to the mall together and pick out dresses!”

You dont’t look up, but try to sound excited. Were you really ‘going with’ Michael? “Isn’t it a Halloween dance? Won’t everyone be wearing costumes?” 

“Oh, no way! Halloween is kind of a sore subject for everyone here. I’m surprised the boys haven’t told you about it. See-“ Christine licks her lips and starts double checking the work on her own project. 

“Two years ago, when Rich took...y’know...it was at a Halloween party when everything /crazy/ happened. I guess it was kind of mine and Jeremy’s first date, too. It’s complicated, Y/N, but...anyway. Rich set a fire, and he burned down Jake’s house.” 

You let out a small gasp, not able to contain your shock. Rich? The tiny guy who is always in a tank top and hitting on Michael? Burned down his classmate’s house...because of a SQUIP? No way that can be true. 

“Are you sure he wasn’t just drunk, Christine? Or, like, suuuuuper stoned? He’s a tiny guy, it’s not like it would take much to get him wasted.” 

Your friend shakes her head emphatically. “No, I was there. He didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol, and no one was smoking at the party. It was because of the other thing. He was asking everyone where he could get Code Red Mountain Dew, and before you know it-“ 

Christine slapped the palm of her hand against her wood plank, making a dramatic ‘kaboom!’ noise with her hand. “All hell broke loose. That was the same night that Michael had this really big panic attack in Jake’s bathroom and he ended up getting into a minor accident on his way home. It wasn’t anything major, but he was shaken up for a whole week. He couldn’t see the road through his tears.” 

You swallow down the lump in your throat. First, you feel a tug on your heartstrings for Michael’s sake. Of course, it was obvious that the boy has some kind of anxiety disorder, but you didn’t realize until now just how bad it must be. For the first time since being here, you’re genuinely terrified of the power that the SQUIPS hold. 

“Anyway, every year since then, the school holds a big dance on Halloween. Costumes aren’t allowed, because the adults don’t want any kids to cover their faces. That way, if anything goes wrong, every kid can be identified easily. The main point of the dance is so that we all have somewhere to be, under adult supervision, so that kind of thing doesn’t happen again.” 

It’s a lot to take in, but you nod, showing Christine that you understand everything she’s said. “I think I know where the mall is...it’s on Water Street, right?” 

She turns her head, absolutely beaming at you. “Yes! The dance is next Friday, so we can go sometime next week, if you want? I’m sure my mom would let me borrow her car...and I know exactly where you live, since you’re right next to Michael’s house. I’ve picked Jeremy up from there a couple times.” 

Christine sure can talk, but you don’t mind one bit. Honestly, it’s a nice distraction from the billions of thoughts in your head, especially after the crazy week you’ve had. 

“But,” she starts again, sounding more serious than before. “I should probably get your phone number, to be safe. I know I’ll see you pretty much every day here at school, but I want to make sure we can get ahold of each other. I’ll give you mine, too!” 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and you notice the touch screen, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Great, but I do want to warn you that I have a flip phone. So, calling is probably better than texting.” 

You pull the dinosaur of a device out of your pocket and hand it over to her, taking hers and saying a silent prayer of thanks that she’s opened the ‘New Contact’ page for you. 

“Wow! I haven’t seen one of these in forever. Sometimes I wanna go off the grid and get back down to just the basics. Technology can be super scary sometimes.” 

You think back to what Michael said in his bedroom as you enter in your phone number to Christine’s phone, and repeat his sentiment back to your friend. 

“You know, technology isn’t so bad as long as it’s in the right hands. It’s all about how you use it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning angst and hurt/comfort ahead. You help Michael through a panic attack.

Once the afternoon announcements have ended and you part ways with Christine, you make your way out the front of the school. For a brief moment, you consider heading over where you remember Michael parking this morning. 

You don’t think he would turn you down if you asked for a ride home, but you’re a little overloaded on social interaction for the time being. You’re happy to take a seat at the back of the almost already-full bus, next to a mousy girl who looks harmless enough. 

The bus ride home is a little on the loud side, a few freshman in the middle of the bus gushing on and on about who they’re each respectively asking to the Halloween dance. You tune them out easily enough, and get off at your normal stop. 

The cruiser isn’t in the driveway next door, you notice as you enter your own home. The second realization you have, is that your driveway is also empty. Mom must be out on another call. 

The last thing you notice, after gently pushing away man’s best friend, is that the door to your father’s ‘office’ is closed. 

Not bothering to slip off your shoes, you approach the room slowly and press your ear to the door. If you concentrate past the loud sound of your dog’s panting at your feet, you can just faintly make out the sounds of keyboard keys clicking away. 

Great. 

Dad’s probably already knee-deep in his latest novel, and you bitterly think it’s for the best. At least for now he isn’t grilling you about what you might or might not know about SQUIPS. You’re not even sure what you know at this point, except that you never want to be near anyone who has one active. 

You consider knocking on the door to tell your father that you’ve arrived home safely, going so far as to raise your knuckles to the wood. You stop, however, and let your hand slowly lower back down to your side. If he cared, you think, he would’ve come out when he heard the front door. 

With a heart full of disappointment and a head full of confusion, you walk down the hallway and enter your own room. It’s quiet, the family cat in a soft loaf on your bed. You smile to yourself, remembering how sweet Michael was with his cat, Shadow. 

Very carefully, so as to not disturb your cat, you climb up into the center of your bed and relax against your pillows. The quiet is a welcome change of pace for the day, and you don’t want to make the same mistake you did last night. 

Within minutes, your homework is laid out in front of you, organized by subject. 

About an hour and a half has passed when you finally finish the last chapter of the assigned reading. You’re extremely proud of yourself for actually getting your homework done today, and honestly kind of looking forward to having your gym period in the morning free for conversation. 

You’re leaning over the side of your bed, nearly tucking your finished worksheets back into your messenger bag when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Rolling your eyes, you briefly wonder why your father can’t just walk down the hallway and ask or tell you whatever it is he needs to. So the cycle begins again. 

A seven-three-two number flashes on the small screen of your phone, and you’re not as annoyed anymore. Odd, didn’t Christine agree that dress shopping would take place Wednesday? You consider ignoring the call for a moment, but realize that it might be important, and flip the device open. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a sniffle on the other end, and an extremely shaky breath. “I’m so sorry.” You recognize the voice immediately, your mouth dropping open in surprise. “This is so stupid, I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“Michael?” 

“I got your number from Christine. I...I’m going to be home in ten minutes...my-my moms are at work.” There’s no way to be certain, but you’d put money on a bet that he is crying right now. His voice sounds somewhat distant, like he might be driving and using his car’s speaker to talk. Panic surges through you for a minute, remembering what Christine said about the Halloween party. “Can you come over...please?” 

You want to ask so many questions, you want to ask if he’s safe, but can’t risk upsetting him more. At least he’s reaching out to someone. 

“Of course, I’m walking over now.” 

The relief that washes over his voice calms your nerves a little, as he mutters a much more calm sounding ‘thank you’, before the line goes dead. 

Admittedly a little grateful that you haven’t taken your shoes off yet, you give your cat a quick kiss on the head and venture next door. It’s probably only about eight minutes that you’re waiting, sitting on Michael’s front porch, but it feels like an hour. 

Every minute that passes is torture, your mind coming up with horrible images of your neighbor on the side of the road because he isn’t able to see well enough to drive. What could be causing him so much distress? You saw him only a few hours ago, what could’ve possibly happened? 

Luckily, the worry is hushed when the familiar green suv pulls into the driveway. Though, it does pull in maybe just a little too fast. Your friend exits the driver side, and you can see behind his glasses that his eyes are puffy, pools of tears building up. 

“Oh, Michael...” 

He doesn’t respond to you, but merely walks past you on the steps, his hands shaking at an alarming rate as he fumbles to put his key into the door. Standing carefully and turning to ascend the small steps, you carefully reach out and take the keys from his shaking fingers. 

He doesn’t say anything, his lower lip quivering as you unlock the door and push it open, in an attempt to be as helpful as you can be. Anything he needs, you decide in this moment, you’re going to be here for. 

Michael’s moving much more quickly than you think he should be, entering the house and bee lining for the basement door. You think it’s best to follow, locking the front door behind you. 

The light in the basement is still on, which you’re thankful for as you carefully climb down the old wooden steps. Michael is already seated on the couch by the time you reach the bottom. His elbows are resting on his knees, and you hear short, loud sobs escaping the fragile teenage boy. 

“Hey, hey...I’m here...” your voice is as gentle as you can manage through your nerves, not entirely sure of how to handle this situation. 

“I know,” Michael is able to get out through his sobs, and he almost sounds angry. In situations like this, that’s an easy enough thing to dismiss. 

Careful not to make any too sudden movements, you calmly come to sit beside him on the couch. His face is red and he’s gritting his teeth, streaks of tears along his cheeks. You wish desperately to wipe them away, but you’re not quite that close with him yet. 

Both of Michael’s wrists are twisted a bit, his fingers brought halfway down on his palms while his thumbs aggressively press into each of his other fingernails on his respective hands. He seems so tortured, like he’s been through something absolutely traumatic. 

It’s not clear if you should push, or what exactly is needed of you, so you wait. You let Michael cry for a few more minutes, watching as he swallows back what seems like a world of pain. 

“Michael, did something...?” 

He shakes his head, and finally unclenches his hands to lie his head within them, between his knees. “Jeremy,” he says sorrowfully. 

“Jeremy did something?” 

“I don’t know! We-we were...god damn it!” The boy takes in a few deep breaths, rocking slightly for a moment. All you want in this moment is to take him into your arms and take away every ounce of pain he’s feeling. Still unsure of what’s even happened, you can’t help but feel that everything you’d worried about throughout the day is minuscule in comparison to this. 

It takes another three or four minutes before Michael sits up, fixing his glasses and wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, as if literally holding himself together. He takes in a sharp breath, and then nods, as if confirming he’s ready to explain. 

“We were hanging out at his house, and funny enough-I don’t think I’ve ever told you this-his dad’s favorite drink is Mountain Dew. Ironic, right?” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound cheerful. It doesn’t sound anything like the laughs that give you butterflies, it’s full of malice, and it honestly kind of stuns you. 

It’s taking every bit of effort you have to keep your own breathing even as you listen to Michael explain, a little bit on edge yourself now. What the hell could have happened? 

“So, I was thinking about what you said. And I asked him, yknow, ‘hey, buddy, what do you think would happen if you drank some of the dew?’. This kid looks at me like I’m crazy and asks me what for. So I explain to him the theory that just maybe, the SQUIP isn’t gone for good. Y/N, do you know what he does?” 

It’s a pretty safe bet to assume this is a rhetorical question, but you shake your head anyway in response. 

“He doesn’t even answer me, he just walks out of the room. He comes back a couple minutes later and he’s got a clear glass. Now, I know what Mountain Dew looks like. It’s yellow, it’s green, I mean- it looks like carbonated slime, right? And Jeremy takes a big fucking swig of it.” 

You can’t hold back the gasp that escapes you, a soft “Oh, no,” pouring from your lips before you can stop it. 

“Oh, /yes/,” your neighbor says angrily. “And he just says ‘well, let’s see what happens!’ I mean- does he not remember what happened last time? Does he not remember what- what he did to /me/ last time?” His voice breaks as he adamantly points to his own chest, his shoulders shaking as he sobs again. 

You can’t bear to see your friend in this much pain, so you slide a little closer. Your goal is to close enough distance to be a literal shoulder to cry on, if Michael needs it right now. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and in an instant, you feel hands at your sides. Instead of his own fingers within his palms, the fabric of your shirt is being balled up in his hands. You can feel his warm breath and wet tears against your shoulder, even through the soft cotton of your shirt. 

For a moment, you’re not sure what to do. Michael’s body shakes as he cries, sounding absolutely destroyed and heartbroken. Closing your own eyes for a moment, you bring your arms up to gently wrap around his neck, hugging him close to your body. 

There’s no way to know what the right thing to say is, so you decide to go with the first thing that comes to your mind. “I’ve got you, Michael. I’m here.” 

He pulls on your shirt a bit, as if grounding himself in this moment with you. One of your hands gently rubs back and forth on the upper half of the joy division patch ironed onto the back of his red hoodie. The teenage boy is pressing into the hug you’re offering and you can feel his body start to relax some. 

It’s almost funny, before this week, you couldn’t imagine caring this much about somebody. Your parents didn’t exactly raise you with the most loving of hands, but something about the delicate boy in your arms absolutely gets under your skin in the best of ways. 

“I’m crying on your shirt,” he says with a sad laugh, but you just shake your head and let him. It feels like hours that you’ve been holding him, rubbing small and comforting circles on his back with the palm of your hand-and you’re honestly content to stay this way for as long as needs. 

The boy releases his hold on your top, reaching both of his hands up to fix his glasses and wipe under his eyes as he pulls from your embrace. You stay in the same spot you’ve been in, in case he needs to come back, but allow your arms to lower back down so you can rest your hands in your own lap. 

Michael relaxes against the couch, letting his head fall against the back and letting his eyes close. You watch as his chest rises and falls, the teenage boy’s hands pushing each sleeve of his hoodie up to his elbows. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and once you feel like he might have gotten it all out, you very gently remind him where he was in his story. “Did anything happen when he drank it?” 

Michael licks his lips, his eyes still closed, his face almost looking relaxed now. “That’s just it...I can’t be sure. We were playing Sonic and then all of a sudden, he starts zoning out. It wasn’t quite the same as I remember him being before...when...y’know? But, it was like he couldn’t focus. I asked him if he was okay, and he just. He freaked the /fuck/ out on me. He said-no, snapped-that I needed to ‘just go home’ and that I was being ‘clingy’ like ‘before’.” 

Your friend is embellishing his words with air quotes, his long fingers curling to emphasize what was said to him. Your heart is breaking for Michael, at the idea that he might lose his best friend all over again. And, you feel a little guilty that you may have aided in this demise. You and your big mouth. 

Luckily, it seems like Michael has switched into somewhat of a disbelief rather than despair. 

“I mean, what does that even mean-‘like before’? Is he talking about when I saved his fucking /life/? When I helped him get with Christine, even after he got her squipped? Oh, he’s probably talking about how I still did everything I could to help him after he totally abandoned me and called me a loser on Halloween!” 

Did you hear that right? Christine was squipped, too? You silently wonder if Michael has neglected to tell you that he, too, once ingested the pill...although, it’s probably safe to assume not. As insecure as the boy in front of you may be, he’s a lot more level headed than most of the other kids you’ve met so far. 

There’s a certain calm over Michael’s features, and it seems as though he’s gotten all of his frustrations out. Though it may be conceited to think so, you can’t help but wonder if you being there has sped up his recovery rate. 

“I didn’t have any Code Red on me, obviously. So, I left and I called Christine- she’s the one who suggested that maybe I call you to take my mind off of everything. If he won’t listen to me, I’m sure he’ll listen to her. She never wanted a SQUIP. Jeremy, though, he was stupid enough to do it once...”

“And what about you?” You find your own hands fidgeting in your lap, feeling like you’ve just stepped into a really drama-heavy science fiction novel. Dramatic enough to be a play, even. 

“Me?” He scoffs. “I’m just upset that after everything we’ve been through, my best friend would risk everything and drink the stupid soda.” 

You shake your head, distancing yourself a little bit from Michael on the couch, now that he’s calm. You bounce your leg a little, nervous of the answer to the question on your lips. 

“Did you ever want a SQUIP?” 

Michael opens his eyes finally, the boy sitting up and turning his body to you, becoming animated once again. You notice how much he’s talking with his hands, and it’s the tiniest bit endearing. 

“Yes and no. I mean, I was always fine with being a loser...or a-a geek, or whatever. But, when I realized how easy it seemed to be for Jeremy to just blend in with the cool kids-just with a little help-I was kind of jealous. I’d rather have friends that like me for me, but sometimes-“ he sighs, running a hand through his hair and tugging a bit at the gelled ends. “Sometimes it’s hard when there’s only one person who seems to like you.” 

“I like you, Michael. I like you a lot.” 

His hands stall for a moment, and then come down to rest on each of his knees. His eyes are still watery and red, his cheeks matching. His voice isn’t quite back to it’s normal chipper, but he seems more more calm as he gives you a familiar wide smile. 

“I’m glad Christine gave me your number,” he says softly, reaching a hand out to lay over one of your restless ones. The sudden warmth of his palm over the back of your hand stuns you for just a moment. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. 

“I’m glad you called,” say say honestly, offering a smile of your own. For a brief moment, as your hands lay comfortably together in your own lap, you wonder what might have happened if you hadn’t been here to comfort him. But, you don’t like the thought very much at all.


	13. Chapter 13

Leaving Michael’s house wasn’t an option until you both worked together to devise a plan of action, and you were sure he was calm. It took a little while, and a few...okay, maybe five levels of Apocalypse Of The Damned, but when you left, Michael was back to normal. He had your number now if anything changed, and you’d see him in the morning for a ride to school..

All in all, it was a pretty successful night. There was still no car in the driveway when you crossed the lawn to go back home at almost ten pm, so you expected it to be a quiet night. You were wrong.

“Where were you?” Is the first thing you hear after stepping through your own door. It’s your father’s voice, you can tell that much immediately. 

“Out,” you say with a little more attitude than you meant to. 

“And you didn’t think to call when you knew that you weren’t going to be home from school on time? I’ve been worried sick about you.” 

Just like that, your somewhat good mood instantly vanished. 

“I’m sorry, /what/? Dad...I was here. I did my homework here. I didn’t even leave the house until- you know? Forget it. You don’t notice anything.” You turn on your heel and start taking your shoes off, absolutely disgusted and drained. 

“Young lady, I am your father, and you will not walk away from me!” His voice rises as you make your way to your room, but your father doesn’t move a single muscle in order to follow you. 

“If you’re my father, then act like it!” Well aware of the fact that you’re shouting, and that you’re much too old for this, you slam your door behind you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. More than anything, you wished you were still next door, with someone who acted as though they actually wanted you around, instead of treating you like an obligation. 

You do change and get into bed, but it’s nearly impossibly for you to fall asleep, anger coursing through your veins. No idea where you mother was, and no effort from your father, you did eventually fall asleep, after crying until you had nothing left in your body. 

—————

You were never a morning person, but you were starting to become one. Life in Red Bank wasn’t as hard to adjust to as other towns have been, and you couldn’t help but feel just a little excited for the day as you got ready. 

Today’s outfit was simple, just a long sleeved maroon sweater and a black skirt that came down to your knees. Ankle socks and your usual converse finished the look off, and you were ready to start the day. 

You stopped into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water to put in your bag, and were caught off guard to see your father sitting at the kitchen table. With the end of his pen tapping against an open notebook, he spoke clearly to you. 

“Do you know Richard Goranski?” 

You pause for a moment, but don’t respond right away. That must be Rich’s last name. After a water bottle has been secured in your messenger bag, in a pocket away from any paperwork, you turn to your father and speak calmly. 

“No, is that a football player?” Playing dumb is the best option, as you have no idea what he knows. 

Your father narrows his eyes. “No, it’s the name of a boy in your grade. I have it on good authority that he’s one of the teenagers who have taken a SQUIP. I’d love to talk to him...but it’s not like I can just waltz into a high school and-“ 

You’re quick to cut him off, glancing at the clock on the microwave and feigning surprise. “Oh, man, I’m going to miss my bus! Later dad!” 

Before he can continue his thought, you’re out the door and stepping along the dew-covered grass, making your way to Michael’s driveway. Your neighbor is already in the driver’s seat with the car running, and he looks much better than he did the night before. 

—————-

Michael has one hand on his steering wheel and the other wrapped around a Slurpee cup, occasionally sipping from the large plastic straw as you vent about your morning. 

You’re not sure you would be able to down the grape slush every single morning, but it was nice to have a little routine with your friend. You hold the cold cup between your palms, watching street signs pass by as Michael drives toward school. 

“He’s just such an ass. It’s, like, why did you even have a kid if this is how you’re going to treat her. I’ve told him how much it bothers me when he makes me a pawn in his ‘research’.” 

Michael takes a long sip, finishing off what was in his cup, and you have to admit that it’s an impressive feat. He places the empty vessel into his cup holder and starts to tap his fingers on the steering wheel, although his headphones are nowhere to be found today. 

“You know that I’m here for you until then, but just remember that college is only a year away. Less than, even!” 

You groan, slumping back into the seat and taking a sip of your slurpee. You know that he’s right, but you just wish so desperately you could change something about your situation now. Though, it was nothing compared to what Michael was currently dealing with. 

As the car pulls into it’s usual parking spot, last night’s conversation comes back to you. “Did you bring the Code Red?” 

Michael nods, throwing the car into park. “I have it in my bag. Christine called last night and said that-“ he lets out a big sigh, running a hand through his hair. 

“Jeremy wasn’t doing great when she saw him. He said he was having intrusive thoughts that sounded like-well, yknow-but he seemed scared. He agreed that if I brought it today, he would have some during home room, just to be sure. Honestly, Y/N, I don’t even care about the science or the ‘how’ of it, I just want to make sure he’s okay.” 

You nod sympathetically, taking another sip of the grape drink in your hands and then raising one hand to rub your temple, the start of a brain freeze coming. The brain freeze could not be compared to the chill you felt as Michael’s soft palm curved around your bare knee, the boy leaning over in his seat a bit. 

“I want to make sure you’re okay, too, y’know. I just...you’ve been helping me so much, Y/N, anything I can do...please just ask. And, if it gets really bad again, you can always sleep at my place. My mom’s absolutely love you, and the couch in the basement is pretty comfy. Or you can always take my bed.” 

It’s hard to hide the blush at the thought of being in Michael’s bed, especially when his hand is on your body. But the sentiment touches your heart, making those stupid butterflies kick up in your stomach. Is this what it felt like to truly be cared for? 

Despite the abundance of feelings hitting you all at once, you’re able to get out a quiet “Thank you, really,” before you and Michael exit the vehicle. 

———-

By the time you see either of the boys again, it’s ten minutes into gym class. You’re watching Brooke and Chloe stretching, and wonder how the hell they’re able to work out in all of that makeup and so early in the morning. 

Jeremy’s familiar blue hoodie is the first thing you notice in your peripheral vision, and when you turn your head to survey his features, he definitely looks like normal Jeremy. Michael is following close behind as they climb the steps to join you on the bleachers. 

“Nice sweater,” Jeremy says as he sits down in his usual spot a few spaces below yours, nodding in Michael’s direction as your neighbor takes a seat beside him. “You and Michael are almost matching.” 

Michael smiles at this, tossing his backpack down between the bleacher seats and crossing his legs. “Maybe we planned it.” 

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, looking between you two for a minute. He looks like he wants to say something serious, but when he speaks, his tone is very jovial. “‘Is that what you two will wear to the dance?” 

You open your mouth to answer, but Michael beats you to it. “No way!” He turns his attention to you now, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I meant to tell you, you should probably get a black dress. That way, we can match.” 

“You already know what you’re wearing?” There’s a little bit of surprise coming through in your voice, and you wonder for a moment if Michael is planning on wearing black jeans and a black t shirt to the dance, as you can’t really picture him in anything semi-formal. 

“I sure do.” 

Jeremy is looking over his shoulder, watching Christine stretching on the field. You take the opportunity to flash Michael a questioning thumbs up, silently asking if Jeremy had any of the aforementioned soda. 

The boy in the red hoodie nods and gives you a thumbs up right back, which calms your nerves quite a bit. You honestly don’t know what you would do if one of your new friends lost themselves to a SQUIP. In fact, the thought it almost too much to bear, so you put it out of mind for the rest of the day.


	14. Chapter 14

Things at home are tense, and you haven’t spoken to your father much. In fact, the only times that you do two o exchange any words, are usually over dinner. Though, the only time dinner is ‘served’ at your house is when your mother is home. 

You’ve spent a few nights this past week hanging out next door, either playing video games or casually smoking. Sometimes, Jeremy would be around for the hangout sessions, but often times it was just you and Michael, airing your grievances and everyday announces to each other. 

It’s been a week since the Mountain Dew incident, and Michael’s panic attack. Since then, your mother has been home twice. She’s been spending a lot of time in Newark, where a middle school has been dealing with a handful of kids suddenly delving into an unexplained mania. 

In private sessions, your mother has been able to get a few of the kids to confess to taking a small pill that’s supposed to make them ‘cool’. This is all that is ever discussed at the dinner table, and honestly, you don’t mind one bit. Every second that your father spends discussing the Newark cases is one less moment he spends prodding you for information. 

It’s Thursday, and the Halloween dance is tomorrow. You only really pick at dinner, much to your mother’s dismay. There’s a lull in your parent’s conversation, and you hear a car horn honk from your driveway. 

“Christine’s here to pick me up,” you explain as you push away from the table. Just to avoid any kind of conflict or surprise, you had told your parents before the meal what your plans for the night-and for tomorrow night were. 

Exchanging a worried look first to your father, and then to you, your mother speaks softly. One thing you can always appreciate is how lightly she tries to tread. 

“Honey, I know you’re excited about this dance...I just want you to keep in mind that even under adult supervision, large gatherings of teenagers usually leads to-“ 

“Fun? Mom, please. It’s a school dance. This isn’t Newark, okay? Look...my friend is waiting for me. I really need to go. We can talk all about it tomorrow once I get home.” 

Though you haven’t been seeing her much lately, you’re still able to read your mother pretty well. She has a nervous look on her face as she sets her silverware down beside her dinner plate and holds her fist up to her lips, clearing her throat. 

“Actually, honey, I meant to tell you that-“

A sudden realization washes over you as she speaks. “You won’t be home tomorrow night, will you?” 

She shakes her head, and you clench your jaw. It’s your first real school dance, and you don’t even get to come home and tell your mom about it. Great. Instead, you’ll come home to your father’s locked office door and the sounds of a keyboard. 

You don’t say another word as you leave your house and get into Christine’s car. You fake a smile, greeting her warmly and thanking her for picking you up. Christine is a good friend, and it’s not that she’s ever been anything other than kind, but part of you wishes it was Michael in the driver’s seat. He would know that something was wrong, no matter how well you tried to hide it...and he would know exactly what to say to make you feel better. 

———

The lights flicker a little bit in the dressing room stall. You pulled the zipper up on a beautiful pink empire dress, which fits Christine’s body like a glove. It’s flattering in all the right angles, and she spins a few times in front of the dressing room mirror. 

Although it’s not the roomiest space, for a department store, it’s a decent sized dressing room for two people to share. She scrunches up her nose and squints a bit, her hands on her hips as she scrutinized in the mirror. “What do you think, Y/N? Be honest, I can take it.” 

If there were any doubts in your mind, or faults in the color or fit, you would have told her right away. But, there was no need. The small girl looked absolutely dazzling in a very high school prom way, the dress complimenting her shape and the color very striking against her skin. 

“You look beautiful, Christine! Jeremy’s going to fall in love with you all over again when he sees you.” 

She smiles at her own reflection in the mirror, and then claps her hands in excitement. “Okay! This is it, then! Now we just have to find you a dress...can you?” She points over her shoulder to the zipper, motioning with her other hand for you to come back over. 

You oblige, helping your friend out of her dress and turning away from her so you can put the new dress back on it’s hanger. You fumble getting the straps to slip onto the rubber grips on the bowed edges of the plastic hooks, making sure to stay turned around to give Christine her privacy as she changes back into the dress she wore to the mall. 

“Thank you again for this, I’ve really needed some girl time.” 

“All dressed!” You turn back around and Christine takes the pink dress from you, ushering you out of the dressing room and back onto the sales floor. “And, it’s not a problem. You’re part of the gang now, y’know....do you know what kind of dress you want?” 

Feeling the different materials on the rack, you run your hand along a line of dresses on a rounder. “Not really, Michael just said to get something black.” 

Christine smiles wide, bouncing on her toes as her voice becomes singsong and light. “Michael told you what color to get?!” 

You look up at her over the round, and nod slowly. “Yeah...is that weird?” 

“No, no!” She shakes her head, grabbing a dress from the rack and coming around the display to present it to you. “It’s sweet. Jeremy didn’t tell me a specific color or anything...I think it’s really awesome how well you get along with the boys, yknow.” 

You have to admit, Christine has a really good eye for fashion. She’s holding up a black sheath dress with a white frill lining the short sleeves. It’s exactly your style, and you take it from her excitedly. “This might be a winner....and thank you, It’s...it’s happened really quick, but I can’t even remember what my life was like before I knew you guys. Do you know how awesome you all are?” 

Christine is skipping back to the dressing room, her contagious laugh echoing as you follow her back into the small space you two had just been sharing. “I had a suspicion that we were awesome, but thanks for confirming it.” 

She turns to face the corner, just as you did for her, as you slip out of your street clothes. Luckily, the dress she’s picked slips on overhead, so changing isn’t difficult and no help is needed. You smooth your hands over the skirt, and look at yourself in the mirror. 

You can’t help but let out a small gasp, which is echoed by Christine as she turns around to look at you. “Oh, Y/N! You’re so pretty!” She comes over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and giving you one of the most gentle but loving hugs you’ve ever received. 

Usually, you’re pretty hard on yourself, but the way this dress fits is doing wonders for your confidence. It hugs all of the right places, it’s comfortable as hell, it’s black, and you don’t need any help taking it on or off. Really, all you would have to do is decide on a hairstyle, and you’d be ready to go. 

“Y/N...I want to thank you, for real.” Christine is still hugging you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “You’ve really been taking care of Michael ever since you moved here. He’s kind of a handful sometimes, and I just want you to know that Jeremy and I really appreciate what you’ve done for him.”

She releases you, moving around behind you to settle the tag on the back of the dress under the neckline. You can’t help but blush, wondering if Michael is as appreciative of your efforts as she the other two are. 

“Michael is the sweetest person I’ve ever met...I don’t know how I got so lucky to know all of you, but especially him.” You bite your lip, and study your reflection a little harder in the mirror. The small girl’s eyes are cast downward, making sure that everything is in place on the back of your dress. You take in a deep breath, and turn around to face her. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Christine blinks, looking a little like she may have been taken off guard. “Of course.” 

“How did you know...that you wanted to be with Jeremy?” 

Christine smiles wide, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes light up, like she just realized something. “It’s kind of funny, actually. I was dating Jake-it was a mess, don’t look at me like that, I know. Anyway, Jeremy joined the play we were doing a couple years ago and...I don’t know. He was really into the play, and when we talked it was...it was really killer. Like, there wasn’t a bunch of pressure. I could say anything I wanted and I think, I think that’s how I knew. I was always comfortable around him.” 

You nod, motioning for her to turn around so that you can change back into your street clothes. She obliged, and with her back turned to you as you slipped off the dress and started putting everything else back on, she spoke softly. 

“I hope you don’t think that I’m making any assumptions, but...do you feel comfortable around Michael?” 

For a moment, you freeze. It would have been naive to think that Christine wouldn’t see the parallel, or make an educated guess, but it shook you a bit that she asked so boldly. Shaking out your hair and smoothing your top down, you grab the black dress and toss it over your shoulder. 

You consider holding back, or changing the subject. But, what are girlfriends for, right? “Christine,” you start, leaving the dressing room with the small girl in tow. She’s skipping merrily behind you as you head u onto the register to check out, that big smile still on her face. “I’ve never felt more comfortable with anyone else in my entire life.”


	15. Chapter 15

Friday was a half day at school, which gave you plenty of time you get home and get ready for the dance.The bus was the best option to get home, as Michael told you on the drive in that he wanted to leave early to pick up his outfit for tonight. 

Sitting at the back of the bus, you could hear that almost everyone was buzzing about what they were going to wear tonight and what songs they wanted to hear. 

It was exciting to be a part of the phenomenon for once, even if you didn’t have parents to stand on the front lawn and take pictures of you and help you cement these memories. 

You took extra care with your makeup, and decided to actually get out some tools to style your hair. You knew that this wasn’t an actual date with Michael, but a little part of you was treating it like it was. 

You put the dress on and stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room, checking from all angles that everything was sitting the way it had at the department store. Seeing yourself in the dress again, your nerves ignited, thinking of the conversation you with Christine when you tried it on. 

Not that you had any reason to doubt the girls loyalty, it was a relief that neither Jeremy nor Michael’s attitude toward you seemed to shift since you half-confessed your feelings to your closest girl friend. She could talk, for sure, but at least she kept secrets to herself. 

You opted for a pair of black flats from the back of your closet, hoping that this dress was good enough to match whatever your neighbor was going to wear tonight. 

You can’t help but smile to yourself, remembering the way he almost cowered at the idea of the dance when Rich was pushing for him to be his fate. Michael had seemed excited about the dance any time it had come up in conversation the past week, and what a lovely change that was. 

Everything was in place and if you kept staring at yourself in the mirror, you knew you were going to start finding flaws. The dance started at six, and it was already five, so you decide now is as good a time as any to head over to your date’s house. 

It was a little chilly without a jacket, but you didn’t want to carry one with you all night, so you dealt with the minor shivers as you crossed the familiar path over to Michael’s front porch. Brandy answered the door, gushing about how beautiful you looked and exclaiming something about a camera. 

There was no sign of Michael’s other mother, but Brandy gave you a big hug and welcomed you inside her home. “Michael will be down in just a minute-wait right here. He’ll be mad, but I need a picture of you two! Michael’s never had a date to a dance before!” 

You smile warmly at the woman and watch after her as she goes through a drawer in the kitchen, presumably looking for some kind of camera. 

“Wow.” 

You jump a little, spinning around to face Michael, and your breath catches in your throat. ‘Wow’ is right. A far cry from what you’re used to seeing, Michael has on a heather gray dress shirt under a black blazer, with black dress pants to match. 

Instead of the usual gel coating on the ends of his hair, it looks as though all the boy has done is wash his hair and let it dry. Soft black curls you didn’t know he had fall just a bit onto his forehead, ghosting the rim of his glasses. 

Neither one of you say anything, both taking in each other’s outfit choices and the sudden tension that seems to fill the room. You think for a moment, and realize that you’ve never seen him wear anything other than this usual red hoodie, except for the occasional t shirt. 

“You look...” A million adjectives flood your mind. Beautiful. Handsome. Dreamy. Breathtaking. “Good,” is what you settle on. 

He just nods slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve done something wrong, not recognizing the glint of whatever it is behind his eyes as he looks at you. 

Before you can ask, though, Brandy is back in the room with her cell phone in hand. “I couldn’t find the Polaroid film, so we’re going to go with just a phone photo! Okay, get in close, you two!” 

Michael gives a breathy huff, shaking his head. “Mom,” he says, sounding slightly annoyed but in a very lighthearted way. “I’m sure that Y/N doesn’t....” 

“Actually, my parents don’t do this kind of thing. I wouldn’t mind if we take a picture.” 

Michael’s face softens as he looks over yours, giving a small nod. It feels a little silly, but you’re glad that he understand-or will at least throw you a bone this time around. 

You turn your front to Brandy, expecting Michael to pose beside you like you would with any friend for a quick picture. You’re pleasantly surprised though, when you feel Michael’s chest against your back, long arms sneaking around your waist in a prom pose. 

The smile you give is genuine, resting your hands on top of his on your hips. Brandy gives a soft ‘aw’ as she snaps a picture, looking at her own phone screen and pouting a little. 

“My sweet baby boy,” she says before tapping her nails against the glass a few times, presumably to save or send the picture. 

Michael gently removes his arms from your waist and rubs the back of his neck nervously, his other hand reaching for the door. “Okay, ma, we’ll be home no later than ten. Don’t forget that Jeremy is staying tonight.” 

“Oh, honey, your mother and I have a Halloween party across town tonight, I hope you don’t mind. We should be back in the afternoon tomorrow, though. We’ll leave some money for you and Jeremy to get a pizza.” 

Michael thanks his mother and guides you out the door, apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry if that was awkward, I didn’t want anything to be awkward and-“ 

You step forward, the sun already dimming a bit in the autumn sky. The porch light to the house was on, a lit jack o lantern on one of the steps. You carefully slide your hands up over Michael’s chest, taking his lapels in your hand. “You look so wonderful,” you say quietly, making sure to maintain eye contact. 

The boy doesn’t respond, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He nods very slowly, and exhales before he answers. “And so do you...I mean, I meant it when I said ‘wow’.” 

He swallows, and for a brief moment, you swear you see his eyes flicker to your lips. You brush the thought side, trying not to let the compliment go to your head...or even worse, your heart. 

Releasing his lapels, you decide on taking his hand instead. “C’mon, we have to go pick up Jeremy and Christine!” 

Michael opens the car door for you, as normal, and once you’re both buckled, he starts to back out. “Actually, I was thinking we could grab Slurpees before we get them-are you up for it?” 

“When am I not?” 

Your neighbor smiles wide, and you sit in comfortable silence the entire way to the seven eleven. The usual cashier is there, commenting on the ‘fancy’ clothes as you swipe your card to pay for one grape and one blue raspberry slurpee. 

“We’re going to a school dance,” you explain as you enter in your PIN number on the keypad. 

The cashier claps enthusiastically. “You are such a lovely couple!” 

A blush finds it’s way onto your cheeks and you open your mouth to respond, but Michael beats you to it, placing an arm around your shoulders. “I’m a lucky guy, that’s for sure!” 

He leads you out of the seven eleven, and you swear to god, this night could not get any better. It’s /almost/ hard to keep a level head with all the playful flirting, but you’re pretty sure that you’ll be alright. You’ve kept your walls up for years, what’s one more night? 

It’s quiet in the car as you stay parked out front of the seven-eleven, sipping your frozen drinks and enjoying a few moments of peace. You’re pretty sure that you both know once Christine and Jeremy are in the car, the conversation probably won’t stop. And, once you’re at the dance, the music will be loud and everyone will be crowding together talking over each other. 

Quiet moments with the best friend you’ve got are treasured times for you. Michael clears his throat after a few minutes, once you’re both mostly done with your slurpees. “If you hand me your cup, I can go throw it out real quick. I don’t want any evidence in the car of our pre-date date.” 

You smirk playfully, handing your cup over to him. “Oh, so we’re on a date?” 

He laughs, and those stupid nagging butterflies go all the way from your stomach up into your throat. He really does look so different tonight. “Please, as if you didn’t know.” 

There’s a hint of a joke in his voice, but it almost sounds like he means it. Almost. You turn his words over and over in your head as he gets out and tosses the paper cups into a nearby trash bin. It’s borderline mixed signals, everything happening right now. 

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just enjoy a fun night with your neighbor and closest friend? Why did your heart and stomach and brain have to keep doing these awful things to nag at you and remind you that you wish he could be more than just a friend to you. 

As soon as Michael gets back in the car, he sounds serious, his voice low. “You know, Y/N, there’s something in Red Bank even more dangerous than SQUIPS.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, pulling your seatbelt on and turning to meet his gaze. “Oh?” 

“Mhm. It’s called Poison death syndrome.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching out to playfully shove his shoulder. He doesn’t budge though, a serious expression on his face. 

“No, really. And you know what the scariest part is?”

“What?”

“There are virtually no symptoms. It comes on suddenly, and no one knows where it comes from. All we know so far is that if you check, and you have a purple tongue...you’re doomed.” 

It takes a minute for you to remember that you just had a grape slurpee, but when you do, there’s absolutely no way to contain your laughter, throwing your head back and holding your stomach. Oh, god. He really could be so goofy sometimes. So goofy and lovable and...damn it. 

“Y/N...I don’t know why you’re laughing...have you looked at your tongue lately?” He’s cracking a smile now, as he turns his key in the ignition and starts to back up. 

As you pull off down the road in the direction of Jeremy’s house, you shake your head. “Yeah, and what disease do you have, Mr. Blue Tongue?” 

Michael shakes his head, his laughter trailing off a bit as he tries to get a serious tone back on, to no avail. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not diseased! I just had a blue raspberry slurpee, that’s all.”

It’s so nice to laugh with a real friend, even if that’s all you two will ever be, it is more than enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dance bb dance

The parking lot of the high school isn’t all too full, most students getting dropped off by ubers or parents. Michael is able to park in the usual spot, which thankfully isn’t too far from the front door. 

Security is pretty tight, a few familiar teachers standing at the front door, making everyone blow into a breathalyzer before entering the school. Jeremy and Christine are holding hands, walking a few paces ahead of you and Michael. 

Christine looks lovely in her pink dress, and Jeremy cleaned up nicely with a dress shirt and tie. They really were such a cute couple, both of them so very infatuated with each other. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk beside Michael through the parking lot. 

“They’re something, right?” 

You glance over at your neighbor, who has his hands in his pockets as he walks at an even pace. “They are,” you agree softly, sighing a little. “Do you think they’re gonna last?” 

Michael looks ahead, watching as the happy couple swings their joined hands, Christine beginning to skip up toward the door. “I really hope so, Christine is so good for him.” 

As you nod in agreement, the distinct smell of menthol smoke wafts your way. You notice Rich sitting on the curb with a few other kids, cigarette in hand. For a moment, you almost feel bad that Rich seems to be here without a date. Before you’re able to comment on anything, you feel Michael’s hand in yours, leading you into the dance. 

Once inside, you realize very quickly that this is not your cup of tea. Jeremy and Christine are on the dance floor almost immediately, lost in a sea of moving bodies. You try to stay as close to Michael as possible, genuinely feeling like you’re going to get lost if you don’t. 

The dirty looks from Jenna, Brooke, Chloe, and Rich are very obvious. Jake doesn’t seem to pay you any mind, but any time you catch the eye of one of those classmates on the dance floor, you feel ill. 

You really are too old to let gossip and rumors bother you, but it’s the way that everyone at this school is so shameless about it that hurts, if you’re being honest with yourself. 

You and your date are leaning back against the snack table. There are a few bowls of chips, some store bought deviled eggs, and a large bowl of punch across the table. Nothing looks too interesting to you, but Michael is happily sipping from a solo cup of punch, watching your classmates dance on the floor. 

The music is just a little too loud for your taste, and there are so many different colored lights going off. You’re honestly not sure how this is the same cafeteria you eat lunch in every day, but you can admit that being here makes you feel /something/. 

Without even realizing what you’re doing, you begin to clench and unclench your fists, looking for anything to do with your hands.  
Nervously, you look over at Michael, and wonder if he’s having an okay time at all. He’s been pretty quiet, nursing his juice and bouncing on his toes to the dance music that’s playing. 

If you were a bolder person, you might push yourself and try to go out into the crowd with him. The possibilities of all the things that could go wrong are overwhelming, like...what if you step on his foot? What if you trip? What if you look half as foolish as you feel you do anytime you’ve ever tried to dance? 

Everything is overwhelming, and you’re starting to feel guilty. There’s absolutely no reason for this boy to be standing at your side, patiently waiting for you to settle in to the new and overwhelming atmosphere. Yet, as always, here he is and you absolutely feel like you’re letting moments slip by too quickly. It takes everything in you, but after the current song ends, you nudge Michael’s shoulder. 

He jumps a little, but sets his drink down behind him and leans down so he can hear you over the music, still tapping his foot to whatever beat was playing from the speakers in the corners of the cafeteria.

You definitely don’t sound confident, but you’ll blame it on trying to find a good volume to talk over the music later on, if asked. “Do you want to dance?” 

Michael pulls back a little and his entire face is lit up like you’ve never seen before. He nods quickly, and hooks his arm with yours, leading you out onto the floor. This seemed like a good idea in your head, but now that you’re actually on the floor, you realize you have no idea what to do. 

It’s all one fast motion, and suddenly you’re face to face with your favorite person in the entire world. It’s a little difficult to say for sure, but you’re pretty sure that was Michael who just giggled, that goofy grin on his face as he cups your worried face in his hands. “Just focus on me.” 

Even over the the pounding music, the boy’s voice sounds bright, the usual sunshine you’re so used to feeling around him completely engulfing your senses. It’s in this moment, as his gentle hands move down to curve around your shoulders, you are absolutely certain you would do anything that this boy asks of you. 

Compulsively, your hands are at your side again, fists opening and closing as you fight through your nerves. The happy smile fades from Michael’s face for just a moment, and his impossibly gentle hands slide down your arms slowly, until his fingers are lacing with your own. 

The boy takes a step back so that he’s not quite as close to you, and the smile returns to his handsome face. Following Michael’s lead seems to be the best thing to do, so you hopelessly let him guide you to the rhythm of the song. 

It’s admittedly a little awkward as you try to match what Michael is doing, and you have to admit that it’s a little easier to dance like no one is watching when Michael is doing the same. 

Before you know it, you’re laughing along with Michael, swaying along with him, and actually finding yourself enjoying the short burst of adrenaline the flashing lights and booming music is giving you. 

Apparently, you two have picked the perfect time to join everyone else on the dance floor. The song changes again once you’re settled in the middle of the crowd, enchanted by the sound of his excited voice as he leans forward some. 

“Oh, I fucking love this song!” he says, close to your ear as ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ starts playing. 

The boy is still holding each of your hands in his own as he begins to sing along to the song, doing a body roll that looks almost effortless. The smile hasn’t left your face, and every reservation you previously had has melted away. 

Effortlessly, and much to your surprise, you are suddenly being spun out, the boy’s right hand still holding onto your left one. The party lights are a glorious swirl of reds, greens, and blues across your vision as you catch yourself before spinning out too far. 

You feel...beautiful. It’s like the moment is just for you two, like there’s no one else on the floor. You really could lose yourself in this feeling, and in fact, you almost do. Thoughts slip away quickly as you feel yourself being pulled in close to his chest, unable to focus on anything but this moment. 

One of his Michael’s arms finds it’s way around your waist and as if your bodies are speaking an entirely different language than your brains are, you and Michael beginning to move together, even more in synch than before. 

He’s holding you closer than you ever thought you’d get to him, guiding you to follow in each direction he’s moving. You have to close your eyes for a second, once you realize that he actually has a phenomenal singing voice and you’ve never heard it before. 

Even over the loud music, you can hear your neighbor hitting every note, emotions you had no idea he could command just pouring out as his voice filled all of your senses.

The song is ending as your eyes flutter back open and find his locked onto yours, no warning as he decides to dip you a bit-still supporting your lower back with his forearm. When you come back up, one of your hands reaches up and grabs hold of his lapel, just as you did earlier in the night.

Before you know it, the song is over and Michael is breathing a little heavier than when you first came out onto the floor. Your heart is beating so loud in your ears that you don’t realize you’re doing the same. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he licks his lips before smiling that wide smile that tugs at your heartstrings. 

You loosen your grip on his lapel, and the song changes again to the first slow song of the night. ‘Ah, that would be our cue to exit the dance floor,’ you think. Just as you try to turn to walk off, you feel two hands gently-but firmly-move to hold your sides. 

“Stay,” Michael whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You can’t think, you can’t move, you can’t speak. You just slowly let your arms move up over his chest, and come to wrap loosely around his shoulders. 

Letting him lead, you sway ever so slightly, slow dancing with Michael at the school dance. Your heart is beating like a drum as his arms encircle your waist, and you swear you could die right there. You close your eyes and lay your head on his chest, wanting to remember this moment, no matter what else happens with you two. 

You hear a soft chuckle from the boy, before feeling the soft press of his lips on your hair. For a moment, you consider asking him why he did that. But, you’d rather just enjoy the moment, so you stay quiet. A comforting hand rubs small circles on your lower back, and you sigh contently. 

The touch reminds you of the same touch you’d given your neighbor last week, and this boy holding you and guiding your body on the dance floor is an entirely different person than the one who was crying into your shirt that night. 

How quickly everything has progressed, you think. You can’t help but hold Michael a little tighter, wishing for a moment that you could tell him exactly how you feel being in his arms. Would he even return the sentiments? Maybe it’s better to not find out...

As quickly as this song started, it begins to fade out. Your bodies have stilled, but Michael’s hold around your middle is still form. You lift your head from the boy’s chest slowly, almost unwillingly. 

When you look up into his eyes, there’s something there that you can’t quite read. Against your better judgement, you slowly bring your arms down from around his neck, and tentatively reach your left hand up to cup his cheek. 

Your sweet neighbor, your first date, your best friend. There are so many things you want to say, but none of them seem right.  
“Michael,” you say his name softly, and this time, you’re absolutely sure that his eyes flicker to your lips. 

There’s no way to be sure if it was the music, the adrenaline, or the punch, but you can’t help but lean in just a little bit. To your surprise, Michael starts to lean in, too. 

That’s when Jeremy Heere comes up behind Michael and slaps a friendly hand on his upper back, causing the boy’s arms around your waist to drop suddenly. You feel...cold, all at once. Empty. You blink a few times, unsure how to process the last few minutes as you drop your arms to your side and turn to see Jeremy and Christine. 

Christine mouths an ‘I’m sorry!’, a genuine sympathetic look in her eyes. You shake your head and smile, knowing that boys will be boys. And besides, another few seconds might have been detrimental to your and Michael’s friendship. 

Your date seems to look a little nervous, forcing a laugh as he claps a hand in Jeremy’s back in return. He leans in and whispers something to Jeremy, Christine taking your hand in her own small one. 

“C’mon, Y/N, let the boys gossip. Come dance with me!” 

Is this what it’s like to have friends, you wonder? Is this what it’s like to be in love? Questions can wait, you decide as you and Christine begin to move through the crowd of classmates on the floor, away from whatever words the boys were exchanging. 

Dancing with Christine is fun, but not as thrilling as your dance with Michael. You try not to dwell on it too much, and just enjoy the last few songs of the dance. 

————

As soon as the last song faded out, the lights in the cafeteria came up suddenly. You and Christine were at the cafeteria doors, her on her phone texting Jeremy to ask where they’d gone. Students are shuffling out in a rush, and you as reality settles back in, you frown at the thought of having to go back home tonight. 

You wish you could tell your mother all about your feelings for your neighbor, and ask if she’s ever danced with your dad and felt the rest of the world fall away. Christine’s hand pulls on your elbow as she leads you out and down the hall, toward the front of the building. “Our boys are already heading out to the car. I didn’t even see them leave!” 

Neither did you, you realize. You also realize that Christine referred to Jeremy and Michael as ‘your’ boys, and that new feeling of belonging settles in your chest once again. 

The parking lot is pretty crowded, so it does take a few minutes to get to the car. Michael is leaning against the hood, his ankles crossed and his hands in his pockets and his eyes locked on the blacktop of the parking lot in front of him. Jeremy is leaning against the back passenger door, but straightens yo when he sees you both approach. 

Geeze, how did they get here so quick Jeremy smiles as soon as he sees Christine runs up into his arms, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. You feel a small pang of jealousy, wishing that you could do the same-or that Michael would even look up at you as you approached the passenger side front door. 

“I’m so tired,” Christine whines, pulling from Jeremy’s embrace and bending down to take her short heels off. “And my feet are so sore.” 

Jeremy chuckles, opening the back door for her and letting her slide in first. “We’ll get you home soon. Y/N, we’re dropping you off, too, right?” 

You shrug, pulling open the passenger side door for the first time since you started riding shotgun in Michael’s car. Your neighbor pushes off the hood of the car, pulling his keys from his pocket and getting in beside you. 

“I guess,” you say, a little deflated. “My mom’s not going to be there and my dad’s still being a dick.” 

There are four clicks, the tune of four seatbelts locking into place, and then the soft sound of Christine’s snore. You glance behind you over the seat, and see the small girl with one of Jeremy’s arms around her waist. Her head is rested on the lanky boy’s shoulder, and Jeremy is looking out the window, quiet. 

“Jeremy and I don’t mind if you want to crash tonight,” Michael says as he slowly pulls out of the parking space, treading carefully through the students walking slowly to their rides all around you. 

It’s a relief that he’s not being cold to you, which was your biggest worry when he didn’t greet you excitedly as you met him in front of the car. Maybe he needs time to process the dancing incident, too. 

“I could stay in the basement, out of your way. Jeremy- is that cool?” You turn around as you ask, but Jeremy is still looking out the window. 

“I don’t mind at all. But, the basement’s pretty cold. We promise not to watch any cable porn if you want to sleep in the bedroom with us.” 

“Speak for yourself,” your neighbor jokes from the driver’s side. You’re relieved that things are more or less back to ‘normal’, though it stings just a bit to feel the loss of what could be. 

“Then...yeah, just drop me off after Christine. We can all change, and I’ll walk back over. Thank you guys.” 

“Dude, don’t thank us. You’re one of us and we love you,” Jeremy says from the back seat, and you feel his hand pat your shoulder over the back of your chair. 

You steal a glance at Michael, his face scrunched up in concentration as he makes his way out of the parking lot and onto the main road, toward Christine’s house. You can’t help but wonder if he shares the sentiment, and if it has the same meaning for him that Jeremy offered.

Love is such a funny word.


	17. Chapter 17

Michael’s front door is unlocked, which makes it easy to slip inside quickly and remove your shoes behind the door. You can hear laughter pouring from Michael’s bedroom, and climb the stairs to meet the boys. 

You were a little surprised, but somewhat grateful to find that you house was entirely empty when Michael dropped you off. Your father’s office door was wide open, but he was nowhere to be found

After making sure your dog and cat both had full food and water bowls, you spent a few minutes carefully taking off your makeup and brushing out your hair. 

Head still reeling from the night’s events, you changed into your usual sleep pants and top and decided that if you needed anything else, you’d simply stop back home. So, you left your phone on your bed and headed back over next door. 

Jeremy and Michael are sitting cross legged on Michael’s bedroom floor, both already in their sleep clothes, as well. 

“Am I interrupting?” 

“Not at all,” Jeremy days, stretching his back and raising his arms as he yawns. “We were talking about Rich.” 

You sit on the floor, in the same fashion that they are, your legs crossed comfortably. “Why?” 

Michael adjusts his glasses and then leans back on his hands, relaxing his upper body. “We all saw him when we were walking in, and Jeremy and I saw him halfway through the dance...he was being kind of weird, really fidgety. We were thinking about your Mountain Dew theory, and so we started to follow him out to the parking lot. Rich is a lot of things, but he’s not one to leave a party early. That’s actually why we were out at the car...”

Michael trails off, standing and making his way over to his desk, the soft sound of shuffling papers filling the room. 

“Right, but we lost him. It was so weird. Like, there were some kids in the parking lot, but it shouldn’t have been difficult to find him,” Jeremy continues the story, pulling his glasses off of his face and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know, it’s just, it’s Halloween. It’s the anniversary of everything.” 

You frown, pulling your knees to your chest. “So-“ 

You’re interrupted by the spark of a lighter, the familiar scent of earthy marijuana filling the room. Looking over your shoulder, you see Michael as he heads back to your little circle, a blunt in hand.

Your train of thought stops abruptly, watching as Michael passes the crudely rolled piece to Jeremy. “You’re not worried about the smell?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, and I’ll put it out once we’re halfway through. Are you going to complain about the boy spit again?” 

The familiar feeling of butterflies creeps into your stomach, and you swallow hard, weighing the options. After everything that happened tonight, you’re nervous about getting that close to Michael’s lips again. These two boys are some of your closest friends now, and the idea of sharing something with them doesn’t gross you out so much. 

You shake your head, taking the blunt from Jeremy as he chokes on his exhale. “No, it’s fine...” You take a decent hit, and decide that’s probably all you’re going to have. Michael always has really strong stuff, you’re not sure you can handle getting absolutely blasted right now. “I’m good,” you say, handing it back to Michael so the boys can continue their rotation. 

“So-I was going to ask...should we call him? Make sure he’s okay?” 

Jeremy shrugs, stammering a little when he answers. You’re impressed how well these two seem to hold their weed, for being such nerds. They must have had this routine for a long time. 

“I-I don’t know. don’t know him that well. We haven’t had an honest conversation in...in like two years? Oh, wait!”

“Why are you looking at me like that, Jeremy?” Michael’s voice sounds hesitant as he takes his final hit and stands so that he can drop the unfinished half of the blunt into a cup of water on his nightstand. What a waste, you think. 

“Because, I just thought of someone that Rich would /absolutely/ answer the phone for.” 

Michael scoffs, sitting on the edge of his own bed now. “I will not.” 

You make puppy dog eyes at your neighbor, sitting up onto your knees, feeling a slight head rush as you do so. Maybe it’s the buzz that’s making you a little paranoid, but you can’t help but feel concerned for Rich’s well-being. “Oh, please, Michael! What if you find out tomorrow that there’s been another fire, or he hurt himself, or something?” 

The boy groans and pulls his cell phone from his pajama pants pocket, shaking his head. “You both owe me. For the weed, and for this phone call.” His slender and somewhat shaky fingers and scrolling with purpose on his screen for a moment, before he finally raises the phone to his ear. 

Michael wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder, bringing one hand up to his mouth to nervously chew on his thumb nail. “It’s ringing,” he says around the digit in his mouth. 

You and Jeremy share a look with each other, and you’re pretty sure you can literally feel the nerves the boys are radiating. 

Michael’s eyes widen a little, not even ten seconds after he places the call. Damn, you didn’t think the response would be that quick. “Hey...cutie.” 

Michael immediately closes his eyes, covering his mouth with his own hand. Oh, no. Terrible start. The tall boy next to you covers his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle laughter. Oh, god. They’re hopeless. 

You jump up from your place on the floor and grab the phone from Michael’s shoulder, hitting the speaker button and setting it on your knee as you join Michael on the bed. 

Rich let’s out a soft, but nervous laugh. He definitely sounds normal, whatever that is for the short boy. “Hey, Mikey...I...I’m surprised you called. It’s kind of late.” 

Michael looks between you and Jeremy, at a loss for words. The lanky boy, on his knees now, makes a motion with his hand to tell Michael to keep going. 

Your neighbor licks his lips, bouncing his leg a little. “For sure. I just- I wanted to check on you. I was looking for you to say bye after the dance, but I didn’t see you.” 

You can hear faint whispering in the background of the call, and it sounds as though Rich is covering the mouthpiece. Odd, who could he be with? 

“Rich?” Michael’s voice shares the same air of suspicion that you’re feeling, and Jeremy’s furrowed brow is a pretty good indicator to you that this seems weird to everyone in the room. 

“What? Yeah, I’m here.” There’s more rustling, and it sounds like the boy on the other end of the line is walking away from whoever the source of whispering was. “Thanks for checking in on me, yeah, I had to jet out of there. I had a prior engagement. Look, I would love to chat with you, but can I take a rain check on this conversation? I’m a little busy.” 

Michael looking between you and Jeremy again, as if asking if it’s alright to end the conversation there. You nod quickly, picking Michael’s phone up from your leg and holding it out to the boy. Jeremy nods in agreement, sitting back a little, as if satisfies with tonight’s findings. 

“Yeah, that’s cool. Just, uh. If you need anything, you have my number.” 

“Thanks, man.” The line goes dead, and Michael flops back onto his bed, covering his face with his hands. You set his phone down on his leg and let out a small, sympathetic laugh. 

“Maybe we should’ve called before you smoked,” you say playfully, shaking your head at the sheer silliness of the call. 

Your neighbor groans, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “That was torture. And who the fuck is he hanging out with?”

“Jake, maybe? Or Brooke? It kinda sounded like a girl’s voice,” Jeremy yawns, rubbing the back of his neck as he stands. “I don’t know, but I’m beat. I’m gonna grab some blankets from the basement and make a bed on the floor...” 

Michael doesn’t sit up, but reaches blindly for his phone and then holds it above his face, swiping around for a bit. Jeremy heads to the basement, and you’re left sitting in silence. It’s not uncomfortable by any means, your buzz setting in and making you a little sleepy now, too. 

After a minute of screen tapping, Michael bumps your knee with his own. “I sent you something.” 

“My phone’s at home,” you reply sheepishly. “I probably should’ve brought it in case of an emergency, but I left it on my bed.” 

The teenage boy sits up now, setting his phone on his nightstand and nodding. “Then you’ll see it tomorrow. No worries. I don’t know how you’re feeling, but I’m pretty beat, too. I can cuddle with Jeremy, if you want to take my bed.” 

A blush finds it’s way to your cheeks, thinking of being tucked into Michael’s galaxy print sheets. “No, no. I can sleep in the basement or something, I can’t take your bed from you.” 

“I really don’t mind. Jeremy makes these bomb ass little beds-he puts a blanket down so the carpet doesn’t scratch your skin, and puts another blanket on top. Like a makeshift sleeping bag. Besides, it’s almost winter, my basement is /freezing/ this time of year.” 

Michael stands, ushering with his hands for you to do the same. You follow his direction, as Jeremy comes back in, crossing your arms over your chest as your anxiety rises. Michael always seems to be guiding you, and you keep letting him. Not that it’s a bad thing, but the realization is hitting you now just how much of a hold this boy has on you. 

True to Michael’s word, Jeremy starts setting up what does indeed look like a “bomb ass bed”, layering blankets on the floor. Your neighbor is pulling back the covers and fluffing up his pillows, getting the bed ready for you. Jesus, this kid is gonna kill you will his sweetness. 

“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed,” you say softly, watching as the lanky boy on the floor climbs into his homemade sleeping bag and curls his arm under a pillow you don’t remember seeing him grab from the bed. 

“Good,” Jeremy says, half asleep already, glasses still on his face. “Then Michael can cuddle with you tonight. He’s a great big spoon.” 

You glance at Michael, raising an eyebrow. The boy shakes his head, rolling his eyes and lowering his voice, probably to avoid disturbing Jeremy. “I’ll keep my distance, if you’re actually okay with sharing the bed.” 

Your face like it’s literally on fire, but you don’t want to make this weird. If you absolutely refused, it might make it obvious that the thought of sharing a bed with Michael shakes you to your core.

Your neighbor turns the light off, and in an instant, you’re in the dark. Michael’s climbing into bed, and is keeping pretty close to the edge on one side. His eyes are already closed, and you’re actually a little grateful that the three of you smoked a bit, just minutes before. 

Just two friends, sharing a bed, sleeping soundly through the night, right? Pushing all the stress and uncertainty aside, you decide to just bite the bullet, and climb into the other side of the bed. It feels impossibly awkward, knowing that the boy you want more than anything else is just a foot or two away from you, but you can’t let it get to you. 

“Thanks for dancing with me,” Michael whispers in the dark, before turning to face away from you. Your heart is beating in your ears, and you close your eyes, turning so that your back is to his as you pull the covers over your shoulders. 

“Anytime,” you whisper back. There’s no response, and you figure that he’s probably already asleep. You don’t have to guess about Jeremy, though. The lanky boy is snoring on the floor beside the bed, and it’s a little hard to ignore. 

Your brain doesn’t let you sleep for a long while, replaying the night’s events over and over in your head. Michael really seemed like he was going to kiss you at the dance, why the hell didn’t he? Maybe you should wake him up and ask him, you think. No, no. That’s the marijuana talking. You just need to keep your eyes closed, and you’ll fall asleep eventually. 

It works, memories of swirling colors of light as Michael spun you on the floor playing across your eyelids until you eventually drift off to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

You wake up halfway through the night. Well, around three am, to be exact. You feel warmth against your back, and a strong arm around your waist, a hand resting lightly on your hip. Your breath hitches when you realize that Michael is holding you against him. 

You close your eyes again and listen to his soft breathing, so calm and even. You tentatively lay your hand over his on your hip, smiling to yourself. His usually clenched hand felt soft and relaxed, fingers splayed over the fabric of your sleep pants. 

Instead of moving in frantic spurts of motion, his wrist is relaxed against your body and you thank every higher being in existence that he’s calm for the moment, if only for this moment. You slowly let your fingers intertwine with his, and hold your breath as he pulls his arm tighter around your middle, burying his face in your hair. 

You didn’t feel any sharp edges of glasses, so you assumed he must have taken them off at some point. You closed your eyes again, wondering what he might look like, half-riddled with sleep. His hair is probably even more disheveled than normal, his feature utterly relaxed and calm. You imagine he probably looks incredibly handsome, and wish more than anything that you had the courage to turn around and face him to see for yourself. 

“Y/N?” It was barely a whisper, his grip on you beginning to loosen. You’re not sure exactly how long he’s been awake for, and you start to feel slightly embarrassed that you’re holding his hand...until you remember that his arm is around your waist. 

If he can be bold, so can you. You can blame it on sleepiness later. After a moment of silence, you allow your hand to ever so softly squeeze his again gently, your chest rising and falling as you breathed deeply. 

“I’m right here,” you whisper back. 

Soft lips are suddenly pressing gentle kisses on your neck, a shaky breath just under your ear. “I had a dream about you,” you hear Michael’s voice, tired and just a little deeper than usual. 

Although the sudden intimacy was far from unwelcome, it was certainly unexpected. You didn’t dare stop him, though, as selfish as that might be. You weren’t sure if he was maybe still half asleep, but you’ve been pining for so long and you finally feel so close to him...

You swallow, craning your neck to expose more skin for him to access. “And?” You ask, breathless as you feel his arm tighten around your middle again. 

“This is better,” he whispers before you feel the soft scrape of teeth on your skin, a small gasp escaping your lips. 

He’s gentle, but bold. You can feel goosebumps rising on your forearms, the soft sounds of his lips pressing against your skin over and over sounding deafening in the otherwise silent room. Michael’s room, in Michael’s bed. 

“Shhh,” you hear right against your ear, and you close your eyes tightly. Being shushed should clam you, but the sudden breath against your skin had the opposite effect. 

You felt nothing but excitement, electricity surging through your veins. Was this really your neighbor? Was this really your bus seat buddy? You dance date? Finally returning all the affection you’d be so desperately keeping hidden from him? 

You feel Michael’s body go rigid behind you as a loud snore comes from beside the bed, making you both aware that Jeremy is in the room, still sleeping on the floor. Michael shifts some, propping himself up on an elbow. 

You feel this shift, and for a moment, panic that this could be the end of it. Soft neck kisses between friends in a half-awake stupor, and nothing more. You’re not sure what you want, but you can’t bear to let the scene end so quickly. 

You rotate a bit, so you can lie flat on your back now, still holding one of his hands in yours. You reach up with your free hand and cup his cheek tenderly, just as you’d done at the dance. He looks far from tired now, though his eyes were half-lidded. 

The intimacy of eye contact with Michael is almost too much for you. Your fingertips slowly trace the curve of his cheek, a soft pull of a smile at the corners of your lips. Safe. Happy. Whole. Feelings that you never knew could live within you are suddenly alive as his eyes searched yours. 

You weren’t sure if he was trying to find hesitation or possibly sincerity, but you tried your best to just maintain eye contact, not wanting to seem too eager, or even worse, unsure about the situation. 

You were right, that he looked handsome like this. No glasses. Messy hair. Just a white cotton t shirt and sleep pants on, a soft beam of moonlight highlighting his beautifully tanned skin. 

“Y/N,” he breathes, and you shake your head, a chill creeping up your spine from your name being spoken so gently on his lips. 

You can’t wait anymore, gently pulling his face down so that you could finally let your lips meet his. No more talking, you’ve decided. You want to show him exactly how you’ve been feeling, exactly how much you cared for your friend. 

You feel no hesitation from him, his fingers tightening their hold on your hand as he parted his lips slowly, and closed them again, soft and warm flesh moving with yours in the dark of his bedroom. 

You could feel him pressing close to you, and your back arched just a bit to maintain a lack of distance, wanting to be sure he knew that you wanted this. 

You felt your heart racing against his chest, tilting your head a bit so that your noses wouldn’t bump. You’re kissing your best friend. You’re kissing Michael. Finally. 

Your entire body feels more alive than you knew possible, heat coursing through every atom. You feel his hand pull away from yours, and for a moment, you long for the contact again, but the new contact is even better. 

Michael’s newly free hand slowly slides up your side, until he reaches your shoulder. The boy gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then continues to slide his hand upward, resting on the side of your neck and letting his thumb slowly run along your jawline. 

You turn your head just enough to break the slow kiss, utterly overwhelmed, your eyes still closed tight. 

He says nothing. You say nothing. Jeremy snores loudly again. 

You swallow, and Michael’s fingers still. “Y/N?” He asks softly, almost sounding hesitant. 

You open you eyes slowly and turn your head, looking up at him once again. 

He doesn’t say anything else, Michael just looks at you for a long time. You can’t find the words to say, and your head is absolutely reeling. You wonder if this is, in fact, a dream you’re having yourself. 

You take in a shaky breath, and then reach your newly-free hand up to grip the front of his shirt collar, pulling him down once again. You feel and hear a groan pass from his lips through to yours, and your teeth pull at his soft lower lip. His gentle hold on the side of your face tightens a bit, as he lovingly lets his thumb brush over your cheek. 

You feel as though you could die right there. There’s no way you could ever feel happier than you do in this moment. You let your hand move from the front of his collar, back around to the nape of his neck. Your fingers wrap gently around his neck, holding him in place as you press your body up against his. 

Another groan in response, as his hand firmly moves back down over your shoulder, passing your elbow. Impossibly soft fingers are delicately tracing down your forearm, before a hand is balling up the material of your shirt at your side. He held you as tightly as you held him, almost if he was afraid to let you go, but you didn’t mind one bit. 

His weight settles comfortably on top of you, the boy shifting so that he has one leg pressed between yours, his grip never faltering. 

You eventually have to pull away from the kiss to take in a few breaths of air, and you feel his lips gently pepper kisses along your neck once again. You feel as though you could cry from the affection, this being so much better than anything you had ever simply imagined about your best friend. No daydream or fantasy could be better than the soft bouts of adoration you received tonight. 

“You looked so pretty in that dress,” his voice is low, just for you to hear as his lips brush your skin with each word. “I could have kissed you right there. I was going to.” 

The confession stuns you momentarily, your hand moving from the nape of his neck down to his shoulder. You give a gentle squeeze to his bicep, leaning your head back some and allowing your eyes to close once more. It’s so hard to believe that you’re not still asleep, dreaming this entire scenario up. 

You want so desperately to ask what this means, to ask if things are going to be the same when the daylight breaks. Every single fiber of your being wants to trace the lines on his face and tell him how long you’ve wanted to be with him like this for. You take in a deep breath, wanting to reassure him that this was all okay. 

“Michael, I-“ 

You hear another snore from beside the bed, and Michael’s kisses stop. The boy presses his forehead to yours, a shaky breath passing from his lips over yours. You swallow, wanting so badly to lean up and capture his mouth in an embrace again. 

“Tell me tomorrow,” he says very softly, before pressing another kiss to your lips, and then one on each of your cheeks. A final kiss is planted, butterfly soft on the top of your nose and then he is settling back beside you. Michael’s arm is protectively around your waist, his forehead pressed to your temple, and you hear his breath even out after just a minute or two. 

It takes another minute for your heartbeat to even out, a happiness you didn’t know could possibly exist still powering over you. You can hardly believe any of this is real. And, honestly, you say a small prayer that it was. 

Your turn your head just enough to press a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead, and his arm around your waist tightens ever so slightly. You close your eyes, completely contented as you feel sleep pull you into it’s hold once more. 

——

When you wake in the morning, the first thing you notice is that there is no weight across your middle. There’s no one beside you, and the morning sun is almost too bright as it pours in through the slits between Michael’s blinds. 

You sit up in a bed that is not your own, surrounded by deep purples and blues of a galaxy print fabric. The faint smell of pancake batter finds it’s way to your nose and you sniff a bit, to make sure you’re smelling correctly. 

You look at the small alarm clock on the edge of Michael’s nightstand, and you’re surprised to see that it’s already nine in the morning. Looking beside the bed, you see that Jeremy’s makeshift blanket bed is in a ruffled mess on the floor. 

The boys must be downstairs, you figure. Making breakfast, by the smell of things. You raise your fingers to your own lips, touching them gently for a moment as you remember last night’s events. 

The close bodies dancing under colored lights, a hand on your thigh the entire ride home...soft kisses in the dark. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. It was real. All of it was real. But you’d woken up alone, and that only left you with more questions. 

You got out of bed, the carpet soft under your bare feet as you stretch your arms upward, feeling your back pop. You hadn’t intended to happen upon anything, and usually eavesdropping was a big ‘no’ from you, but as you reached the top of the staircase, you couldn’t help yourself but to listen in. 

“No, dude, I really fucked up.” You hear Michael’s voice drift into the open dining room space, and you guess he might be sitting at the dining room table. Something that sounds like a metal spoon clanks against what you assume is a porcelain bowl. 

Jeremy’s voice is a little farther away, perhaps in the kitchen? As carefully as you can, you lower yourself down to sit on the top step, praying you haven’t made any noise. 

“I figured as much when I sat up and saw your arm wrapped around her,” Jeremy says in a tone that can only be received as concerned. 

You feel an ugly knot forming in the pit of your stomach as you realize exactly what, and who they were talking about. 

“I don’t know what to say to her, man. I just- we were at the dance, and she was smiling so much. /I/ kept /making/ her smile. I don’t even remember falling asleep, but I had this dream-“ he pauses, like he’s trying to find the words to explain himself to his best friend. 

You hear the shuffling of footsteps, and what sounds like a chair scraping on hardwood. You picture the boys sitting together at the table, Jeremy probably has a stern look on his face, and Michael probably has a very worried one on his. 

It breaks your heart to think you’ve caused him so much distress, especially when he’d given you so much comfort and happiness last night. 

“In the dream,” the shorter boy continues, his voice not quite as steady as before. You hear a deep inhalation of breath, and find yourself holding yours. “She was in my hoodie again, and in my bed-I...the specifics aren’t important, but when I woke up, she was there for real. She was under my arm and her fingers were so warm and soft against my hand and I just-it was my dream come true, Jeremy. And I fucking...”

Jeremy cleared his throat, and you heard what you could only assume was silverware dropping down onto either a plate, or inside of a bowl. 

“I don’t need to know everything you did, buddy...just...was it as good as the dream version?”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and you stiffen a bit, hoping that you didn’t cause a stair to creak or give yourself away. Little bursts of memories from last night come flooding back to you when Michael does respond, though, the same way he had just hours before. 

“It was better, it was.../real/.” His voice sounds almost broken, and you’re not sure what to make of it. You returned his affections, and you liked the way everything felt, so what was the issue? 

“Okay, I hate to ask this, but...how sober were you when you woke up?” Jeremy’s words sounded like they were being spoken around food this time. 

Oh. Realization hits you like a semi truck. You had tasted the faint flavor of weed on Michael’s lips, but you never considered before this moment that he wasn’t sober when he kissed you. Oh. That fucking hurts. 

“I...I don’t know,” You hear a soft groan of frustration from your crush. “She was half-asleep, I was half-asleep...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I apologize? Should I wait until she brings it up? I didn’t even ask her if anything was okay...I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

There’s a pause, and your heart feels like it could crumble to pieces right here, on the top of Michael’s stairs. How could you be so stupid? 

You don’t hear a response from Jeremy, and you imagine that maybe he gave a shrug, or-you hear a chair slide back from the table, and panic settles in your chest at the idea of being caught. 

As carefully as you can, before you’re found out, you pick your feet up and climb the top stair, finally allowing your full weight to come down on the floorboards as you make your way to the bathroom. Once inside, you splash some cold water on your face and grip the edge of the counter, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

You understand that Michael could be confused by everything, and it’s not that you’re hurt that he’s discussing this with Jeremy...but you are a little hurt that he isn’t discussing it with you. You try to calm your nerves and tell yourself it’s just because you were asleep. 

Jeremy /did/ say he woke up and found you two still cuddled together. Your body aches for a moment, remembering what it felt like to be held by your neighbor. You take in a shaky breath, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you realize that this isn’t going to be as easy as it felt last night. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Your shoulders tense, your head snapping toward the door. “I’ll be out in a minute,” you call, your voice cracking a little and betraying you. 

Michael’s voice is soft on the other side of the door, and you can imagine him leaning his temple to the doorframe, arms at his sides, or maybe in the pockets of his sleep pants. 

His voice sounds...heavy, when he speaks again. You know that everything is weighing on him, but hearing it for yourself-directed at you, directed at the cause of his discomfort...it was too much. 

“Can we talk?” 

You close your eyes tightly, feeling a few tears spill down over your cheeks. Your trembling fingers switch on the warm water, so that the sounds of your shaky inhales are covered up. It takes a good minute before you’re able to compose yourself enough to call back an answer. 

“Yeah. I’ll be right out.”


	19. Chapter 19

If you had to guess, you would say it took you about five solid minutes to compose yourself. You knew that Michael was already beating himself up over this, and you didn’t want to make it any worse. 

You’re pretty certain-no, you’re absolutely sure that you were sober when everything happened last night. As much as he pushed, you pulled right back. What happened wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt anyway. 

You exit the room and try your best to keep composure, but the second you see his face, you can feel the tears burn in your eyes. Michael has his back pressed to the wall outside of the door when his eyes meet yours and his face falls.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N...were you crying?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek and forcing a smile. “No, I have allergies in the morning. You’ve really never noticed?” You’re working hard to keep your tone even, noticing the way Michael’s hands seem to twist about, even inside his pockets. Memories flash in your mind of the night the boy cried into your shirt, and you hate that just your presence could bubble up those same feelings for him again. 

You had some stupid idea that you’d wake up and still be in his arms, happy and ready to be together forever. It’s clear now that that’s not the reality, your friend quiet as he studies your face. You wish he would just say something, anything, because you can feel your heart sink slower and lower into your stomach with each silent moment that passes, and you can’t take it much longer. 

“I want to talk about it,” Michael says, barely above a whisper. “I just don’t know where to start.”

You’re able to muster up a small nod, crossing your arms over your chest. Not in any kind of defensive stance, but to maybe hold yourself together. “Jeremy can probably hear u-“

You’re cut off by a nasally voice calling up the stairs. “I can! Do you want me to beat him up for you, Y/N?”

You shake your head, watching as Michael continues to avoid eye contact. “No!” you call back down. “He didn’t do anything wrong, but thank you!”

Michael slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours, a look of concern and surprise on his face. Oh, god. Doesn’t he remember that you’re the one who pulled him in for a kiss? How could he think this is his fault?

Your friend finally pushes off of the wall, and takes a step toward you. It’s an involuntary response, the way you flinch and take a step back so that you’re not in his way. It takes everything in you to push past the deep regret you feel, for letting things go as far as they did. He opens his mouth, but if Michael had anything to say, he didn’t offer it.

The teenage boy silently makes his way to his room, and sits on the edge of his bed. With one more deep intake of breath, you find the strength to follow.

You close the door behind you, hoping that Jeremy doesn’t run up the stairs to listen at the door. Michael’s hands are doing that thing again-where his fingers just don’t stop moving, restless as he keeps them close to his stomach and in his lap.

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but you find yourself taking a seat beside him on the bed, making sure to keep a respectable distance.

He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes, raising one of his shaking hands up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He still hasn’t put his glasses back on, and it’s just another reminder of the moments you shared the night before. It takes a moment before he lets hand drop back down and looks at you. 

The pained look in his eyes is too much, and you want desperately to take him into your arms. Considering everything you know about Michael, that’s probably the last thing he would want. It hurts to know in your heart that he’s probably trying to figure out a way to let you down easy, and honestly? You’re not sure that you could handle it. 

“Hey,” you say softly, offering a genuine smile instead of a forced one. “You’re thinking, like, super loud. It’s just me.” 

Michael doesn’t smile, but just nods his head slowly. He looks like he has so much to say, but no way to start. You do notice that his leg starts to bounce, and you extend a hand to lay softly on his knee. 

“I’m not mad at you, you know.” 

This seems to stun him, his mouth falling open. There’s genuine confusion in his tone when he speaks, furrowing his eyebrows and clasping his hands together firmly. “Why not?” 

“It takes two people to kiss, Michael. It was really late, we were both half asleep, and...” you take in a breath, remembering the bits of conversation you heard as you sat atop the stairs. “And, it’s not like everyone involved was entirely sober.” You were, but you don’t have to make that point known. 

“I’m sorry anyway...I don’t...Y/N, you’re literally always here for me. I can’t believe that I would just...expect you to-“

“You’re my best friend.” You shake your head as you interject, not wanting to hear anymore. You don’t know everything about Michael, but you can see how hard this conversation is for him. There’s never been a moment where you wanted to make anything less than easy for him, and this is no exception. No matter how much your heart aches to ask him if he meant everything he said, you’re admittedly a little scared of the answer. 

“What?” He sounds breathless, blinking a few times as if he was struggling to make sense of your words. 

“That’s what I wanted to tell you last night. I don’t know how much you remember, but I tried to tell you something and you told me to tell you today. So, I am. Michael, you are the /very/ best friend I’ve ever had. I’m not mad at you, and I hope to god you’re not mad at me, either.” 

Michael’s eyes are still blown wide, his hands absolutely still in his own lap. A nice change of pace, but somehow you feel like this isn’t quite a good sign. “Why on earth would I be mad at you?” 

You shrug a little, knowing exactly what you want to say. ‘Because I didn’t stop you. Because I knew that we had smoked and that you were half asleep, but I selfishly stole every kiss that I could because I’m hopelessly falling for you’. No, you’re not brave enough, and you can’t risk losing this friendship. Instead, you give his knee that you’re still holding the most gentle of squeezes. “Are we still friends?” 

The boy nods slowly, and you pull your hand back into your own lap. “Always,” he says as his eyelids flutter shut and he raises a hand to his chest, as if clutching his own heart. Something still feels off, still seems wrong. His hands are still, but his posture is a little too stiff. This entire ordeal must be as overwhelming for him as it is for you. 

Michael Mell is absolutely everything you have ever dreamed of, and even more. As much as it breaks your fragile heart to think that you will never be able to feel his lips on yours again, it hurts even more to think of not having him in your life at all. So, when he opens his eyes again, and asks if you want to come downstairs for breakfast, all you can do is nod and follow him. 

Although everything really is as fine as it can be, you still don’t have much of an appetite, so you opt for a small bowl of cereal. Jeremy breaks the comfortable silence at the table, raising his fork that’s currently piled up with bits of pancake and pointing it in your direction. 

“So, Y/N, is Michael a good kisser?” 

Michael almost chokes on his own pancakes, reaching immediately for his glass of orange juice and taking a huge gulp. Once he’s recovered, he shakes his head quickly. “Please don’t answer that.” 

“No, really, I want to know,” Jeremy prods, a smirk on his face. Boys truly will be boys. 

You glance over at Michael, and although he shares the same blush that you’re currently sporting, you decide to answer honestly, knowing that Jeremy isn’t going to just drop it. 

“Best I’ve ever had,” you say casually, raising a spoonful of cereal to your mouth and ignoring the sound of Michael’s fork clanging against the side of his plate and his fingers lose their grip on the utensil. 

You have to admit, it’s the tiniest bit fun to torture Michael, laughing to yourself as he quickly changes the subject to whatever computer game he and Jeremy have been currently playing. 

Once your bowl is empty and the boys have long since finished their pancakes, you take everyone’s dishes to the kitchen and place them in the sink. Catching a glance at the clock, you can’t believe it’s already eleven. Oh, fuck...you left your phone at home. 

You make your way back to the front door and slip your shoes on, not bothering to tie them as you start to head out the door. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you both on Monday, yeah?” 

Michael nods, giving you the same butterfly-inducing smile you’re so used to seeing. “Don’t forget to forget your gym clothes,” he says, bright and peppy as you walk out the door. 

New Jersey kind of sucks, you think as you cross the slightly frosty lawn back over to your own home. It’s only October, isn’t this supposed to be the time for leaves and beautiful sunsets? 

Part of you wishes you had packed casual clothes, the bottoms of your pajamas pants dampening as you tread through the wet grass. You make a mental note to change right away, as you push through your unlocked front door and kick your shoes off. 

“You didn’t tell me she was your daughter.” 

You freeze, instantly recognizing the voice that you hear only a few feet away on your living room couch. Although...something’s a little different. Just slightly off. You slowly turn around, completely awestruck at the sight of Rich sitting on your couch, a bottle of code red Mountain Dew in his hand. 

You father is sitting next to the tattooed boy, a concerned look on his face. “Y/N, where have you been?” 

You can’t even acknowledge your father’s question, stepping past the doorway and into the living room. You don’t make any attempt at eye contact with Rich, keeping your tone low as you speak directly to your father. “What is he doing here?” 

Rich reaches up and runs a tattooed hand through his hair, nervously looking over at your dad beside him. “Honey,” you father starts, before clearing his throat. “Please come sit down.” 

You feel like you’re in an awful fever dream as you cross the living room and make your way to the recliner placed next to the far side of the couch. You’re hesitant, but you absolutely need answers. What was going on while you were dealing with all of the Michael nonsense? 

“Your mother and I picked Richard up from the dance last night. I’d left him a couple of messages once I found his number, and he finally called us back. Here’s what we know about the SQUIPS so far; They’re tiny super computers from Japan, they’re activated by Mountain Dew, and claimed to be deactivated by either Alcohol or Mountain Dew Code Red- I know how ridiculous that sounds, but hear me out.” 

You’re listening intently, watching as Rich sips from a half-empty bottle of red liquid. He won’t meet your eyes, and he looks extremely nervous. Huh. You don’t recall Michael ever mentioning that Alcohol has any effect on the SQUIPS...

“Your mother has been studying all of the cases in Newark, and we found that although the different drinks can lessen the effects and control of the systems, the SQUIPS never actually turn off. They go into a sort of sleep mode. Naturally, I wondered if-“ 

“If drinking regular Mountain Dew would re-active them.” 

“Yes...how did you-“

“I thought the same thing,” you reply, a little shocked with your own honesty. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Your father looks a little stunned, as well, nodding slowly before he continues. 

“Yes. Well...we decided to try it. We monitored Richard, and a full can of Mountain Dew caused hallucinations.” 

You no longer hear a lisp in the boy’s voice as he speaks up, screwing the cap back onto his drink. “It’s not a hallucination, man, it’s-“ 

Holding up a stern hand, a motion he’s done to you many times, your father cuts the boy off. Rich looks a little deflated, sinking back into the couch, but he obeys. 

“It’s a hallucination. But, if we give him small doses of the red Mountain Dew, it lessens. We noticed that Richard’s ticks and fidgets weren’t as persistent, and his lisp faded away entirely. Instead of being unsure about his answers when we asked him what he was thinking, he was speaking clearly, and it seemed like it had the same effect as a prescription medication. So we-your mother and I-were thinking that maybe-“ 

For what feels like the hundredth time this morning, realization hits you. “Oh, dad, please tell me you don’t want to find a way to control the SQUIPS.” Usually, your father’s passion projects are harmless things like wanting to catch Bigfoot, or thinking that Spaghetti should be made with white sauce. Of all the ideas your father has ever had, this one frightens you the most. Where was the man who was just preaching the dangers of these pills. 

Rich sits up now, an earnest expression on his features. “Y/N, I know you’ve heard some shit from Michael and Jeremy-“ your father quirks an eyebrow at the language, but doesn’t interrupt. “But, I’m telling you, my SQUIP really helps me. Listen-I don’t have a lisp anymore. And, as long as I keep this shitty soda around, I can more or less control it. When I was just ignoring it, I still got intrusive thoughts, but they didn’t make sense. Right now, it’s telling me to jump in and tell you-in my own words, yes, they’re mine-that this is something I want for myself. Your dad is just helping to make it happen. There’s no option to remove it, I want to try to make the best of having this stupid thing inside me forever.” 

Your head is reeling, your jaw slack and eyes wide. Your father has some crazy ideas, but your mother usually keeps him in check. If she’s on board with this, as a medical professional, maybe this could be a step toward finding the silver lining of this crazy invention...

Almost as if on cue, your mother steps into the living room from the kitchen. You jump a little, watching her form as she comes to kneel down beside the chair you’re in and takes your hand gently in hers. 

“Honey, I know this is a lot to take in...but this might be a wonderful alternative to all of those prescription medicines out there. What if we could cure ADHD and depression with these computers? The world is moving fast and new technology comes out every day, what if /we/-“ she squeezes your hand to emphasize her point, and you’re very glad that you can’t cry anymore this morning after your stint in the bathroom, or you would be. “-can be pioneers in making that discovery?” 

Closing your eyes tightly, you stay silent. Not even three hours ago, you were worried if a boy /liked/ you or not. Now, you have to decide if you want to get involved in your parents crazy scheme. God, why couldn’t you just be a normal teenager for one day? 

You take in a deep breath, giving your mother’s hand a gentle squeeze back. For a moment, you wonder what Michael would say. No, you can’t do that to yourself right now. You only have one life, and it’s not like Michael is your boyfriend. You have to make this decision on your own. Maybe you and your family could really help people. 

When you open your eyes again, you see a soft but desperate look from your mother. You see a hopeful glimmer in your father’s eyes, who looks like he is currently holding his breath. You see a sad teenage boy, longing for help beside him. Maybe now was the time to accept that you are going to be a sort of this, one way or another. You might as well go along the journey willingly, right? 

“What role do I play in this?” 

Your mother gasps a little, lowering her head to kiss your joined hands. “Thank you,” she whispers, and your stomach turns a little. You hope to god you’re making the right choice. 

The clap of your father’s hand on Rich’s knee rings loudly in your small living room. “You’ll stick by Rich at school. He has a journal going to keep track of what his SQUIP is directing him to do. I bought a bulk supply of code red from an overseas company, since he’s too young to drink, and that’s probably not the best way to control this thing. You’ll carry some in your bag at all times and watch him, and let us know right away if anything stops working the way it should.” 

You swallow, your eyes meeting Rich’s. Well, it looks like you have a new best friend. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” the boy says softly, setting his bottle of soda on the coffee table. “I promise I’ll stay honest during this whole thing. You might not understand, but I just want to be normal...I want things to be easier...I mean, do you ever feel that way?” 

You nod slowly, remembering all too well everything that’s happened in the past twenty four hours. Hell, in the past week. More clearly than you’ve ever understood anything in this world, you know exactly what Rich is talking about.


	20. Chapter 20

Although you have literally a million questions, all you can do is go through the motions and try to pretend everything is normal. 

After agreeing to help both Rich and your parents, for god knows whatever reason, you immediately took off to your room. The only thing you can think about right now is changing into some sensible clothes. Even through your closed door, you can hear the distinct sound of someone leaving. The front door slams, and moments later, you hear the van pull out of the driveway. 

Hopefully, your parents left to bring Rich home, and you can talk to them more about all of this alone. Or...maybe not. You don’t know, all you know is that you’re completely overwhelmed. 

Your cat is laying on your bed, and you wonder if it never moves from this spot when you’re not home. You flop down next to the impossibly soft ball of fluff, and grab your phone from the corner of the bed. Ah, right where you left it. Your parents can invade your social life all they want, but luckily they didn’t seem to care much about your privacy. For that, you’re thankful. 

The problem with...well, everything, is how powerless you feel. Aren’t we supposed to be able to trust our parents, follow their guidance and take their words as absolute truths? So, why doesn’t it feel like you can trust them? College might only be a year away, but so much can happen in a year...will college even be an option? Maybe, just maybe, this will work out for the best. 

Maybe you’re looking at this all wrong, with pessimistic eyes and a heavy heart. Maybe you, Rich, and your parents can really find a way to make the best of the evil that’s in the world-that’s all anyone can ever do, right? Maybe colleges will be knocking on your door, offering scholarship after scholarship to the daughter of the amazing researcher who found a new alternative medicine. 

You sit up, willing the anxiety to stop for a moment. As you lean your back against your pillows and pull your now denim-clad legs up to your chest, you see a notification bell on your phone’s front window. You have a text message, from...oh. That’s right. Before everything happened last night, Michael said he sent you something. 

Maybe this is a confession of his love for you, you think. You almost laugh out loud at the thought, almost. Your fingers are literally trembling as you open the message, and your heart sinks when it loads. 

Oh, god. Sitting on your screen is an impossibly pixelated copy of the picture from last night. Michael’s arms are around your waist, your hands over his. You’re both smiling as if you’ve never been happier, and you can’t stop a sob from escaping your throat as you realize that that’s exactly what you felt in that moment. /happiness/. 

Maybe it’s from self pity, maybe it’s from all of the overwhelming events of the day, but you can’t hold it in anymore. One sob turns into two, and before you know it, your head is in your hands and your shoulders and shaking with every desperate sound emitting from your lips. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much to know what it feels like to have him, and to know that it didn’t mean anything to the boy. 

All abandon is out the window, and you feel like you’ll maybe never stop crying. Your cat is looking at you, it’s ears perked up tall as it watches you break down. There’s a knock on your bedroom door, and you realize that you have to pull it together quickly. 

You snap your phone shut and wipe your eyes, though it does nothing for the fountain of tears that won’t seem to stop now that they’ve started. Great, you think to yourself. One of your parent must’ve stuck around and heard you. You don’t answer, and there’s another knock on the door. 

Frustrated, you pick up one of your pillows and cover your face, screaming into the plush cover. You hear your doorknob click and the familiar creaking sound of hinges swinging open. Your shaking hands lower the pillow, ready to yell at whichever parent is brave enough to wander in during your breakdown. 

You freeze up immediately, though, when you look up and see Rich standing in your doorway. “Sorry,” he says rather meekly, bringing a tattooed hand up to rub the back of his neck. “I...your parents left to get more regular Mountain Dew and...I don’t know, i wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“You don’t have to pretend to be my friend, dude, I’m still going to help you. It’s stupid teenage girl shit.” 

Rich takes a hesitant step into your bedroom, tapping two fingers on the back of his neck and wincing. An odd gesture, but you don’t question it. You know you look like a mess right now, but you don’t care. It’s just Rich, after all. 

“I can be good with ‘stupid teenage girl stuff’,” he says softly. “Can I sit with you?” 

“Why would you do that?”

“Y/N, I /just/ said that I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You don’t look or sound even a little bit okay. So, can I sit with you or not?” 

Even through your emotional haze, you can’t forget exactly who you’re dealing with. You suck in a sharp breath and shrug, looking back down to your closed flip phone. “I don’t know, is that what your SQUIP is telling you to do?” 

Rich frowns, and even though you haven’t given him explicit permission, he closes your bedroom door behind him and sits on the corner of your bed, folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head. “That’s why your parents went to get more soda. My SQUIP’s been silent for twenty minutes. This is all me.” 

You have to admit you’re dubious, not detecting any hint of a lisp in the boy’s voice. “How do I know if you’re telling me the truth?” 

“Because I said I would be honest with you,” he says, like it’s the simplest and most obvious answer in the world. Ugh. Who is this kid? Oh, right. He’s your new assigned best friend, isn’t he? Well, now is as good a time as any to get to know him. 

You take in a big breath, and then hesitate once more. “How do I know you won’t tell my parents everything I say?” 

“You don’t.” Again, with this matter-of-fact attitude. 

At least he’s blunt. Maybe that’s exactly what you need right now. You avoid making eye contact with the practical stranger on your bed, and flip your phone back open, pulling the picture up once more. 

You bite your lip, wondering if this is a big mistake, but you decide to take one more risk today. “It’s, well...don’t say I didn’t warn you that it was stupid.” 

Rich holds one hand out, and when you place your phone in his palm, he nods solemnly. “Oh,” he says quietly. 

/oh/? What is that supposed to mean? 

His mouth is in a tight line as his eyes scan over the small screen of your phone. He closes the device, and puts it gently back into your own hand. 

“You’re talking to the president of the ‘In Love With Michael Mell Club’, you know.” 

Oh. Oh fuck. That’s right. You swallow hard, wondering if you’ve totally misread the entire situation and fucked everything up. 

“Rich, I didn’t mean to-“

“So I understand more than anybody. That boy’s an enigma. He’s just...he’s so charming and sweet and dorky and lovable and-“ he stops when you start crying again, moving from his spot on the edge of the bed to sit beside you and wrap an arm around your shoulders. He laughs softly, and you can’t even begin to guess what could possibly be funny to him right now. 

“I know, Y/N. It fucking sucks. When I set that fire, I was in the hospital for ten weeks afterwards. Do you know how many people came to visit me?” 

You shake your head, willing yourself to take deep breaths as tears continued to spill down your cheeks. You felt impossibly weak and defeated, but you had to admit that the strong arm around your shoulders did help to calm you down a bit. 

“Just Michael. My own fucking dad showed up /once/ to sign paperwork, and I didn’t even get so much as a text from anyone at school. I get it, because, yknow, I was a dick. But I almost /died/. Michael came to visit once a week, actually he was there even more than that once Jeremy moved into my room after his SQUIP went rogue. I would give /anything/ to have even a friendship with that boy the way you do.” 

Rich does have a point, you are extremely blessed to be able to call Michael you’re friend. It’s a double edged sword, though, now that you know what it feels like to have more, how can you settle? You can’t respond to any of what the tattooed boy has said, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps a firm grip on your shoulder, leaning his head on top of yours, and just lets you cry. 

Surely, you would have thought Rich would get bored or annoyed, but for an entire seven minutes, the boy stays with you. Once you’re able to calm yourself down enough and even your breathing out, you pull away from his embrace. You wrap your arms around yourself, closing your eyes tightly and shuddering. “Why are you being so nice to me?” 

There’s a soft laugh that comes from Rich, and you look up to meet his brown eyes, and there’s a tenderness there that you didn’t know Rich’s little body held. “Because you’re letting me? I’m not a bad guy, Y/N. Everyone treats me differently because of the SQUIP thing and-don’t even look at me like that, you’ve been doing it ever since you moved here. This is why I wanted the stupid thing in the first place. I’m just...I’m so tired of being the person that everyone thinks that I am.” 

His words sit in the air for a moment, and you realize that he’s right. There were multiple times when you could have invited Rich along to hangouts, or focused on conversing with him at lunch, but you didn’t. You listened to what everyone was saying-warning you about, really-and that was unfair. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-no, /you/ didn’t deserve that.” Oh, god. You must’ve really done a number on your vocal cords with all the crying, your voice sounding impossibly hoarse as you offer a sincere apology. 

“And you don’t deserve to feel so alone, either. Look, your parents have been so awesome to me...way better than my parents ever have been, but I’m not an idiot. I can see that there’s some serious tension here. I read one of your dad’s books before I called back, and like-dude-have you ever read one of those things?” He sits up on his knees on your bed, laying his hands flat on his thighs. “I get it, parents fucking suck. Being in love with Michael, and getting nothing back fucking sucks. Not having any friends fucking /sucks/. This doesn’t have to be a miserable time for you, if you let me be your friend.” 

It shouldn’t even be a question on whether or not to accept, but for some reason, you still have some hesitation lingering. “Are you sure that thing isn’t active? You seem to be saying exactly what I need to hear right now.” 

A very serious look comes over Rich’s features, and he nods a little bit, almost to himself. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, which feels like a good sign. He doesn’t entertain your comment this time, his voice calm and full of patience. “I’m glad I could make you feel better. Do you want me to go back out to the living room to wait for your parents to get back? I don’t want to cramp your style. We’re about to be spending a lot of time together.” 

“No!” You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter than before. You didn’t mean to give such a strong reaction, but the thought of being alone right now terrifies you. You try again, softer this time. “No, I’m not going to kick you out. You’re right, though. We’re going to be spending a lot more time together so...” settling back into the pillows at the head of your bed, you cross your legs in front of you. You wipe your eyes again, knowing that you just made a complete mess of yourself, but feeling pretty safe with Rich there. “Tell me what I should know about you.” 

Rich’s expression softens, and he settles down beside you, his back against your pillows as he rests his arms behind his head. He stares up at your ceiling fan, eyes seeming to follow the spinning blades. “I’ll start with what you probably already know...I’m bisexual, openly. I have a SQUIP, and a criminal record. I, uh...I ironically hate the taste of all flavors of Mountain Dew,” he laughs a little, and you find yourself laughing along with him. 

“And as for things you don’t know...uh...I play guitar? I’m not very good, I can’t really sing because of my lisp, so it’s mostly a lot of finger plucking. I’m lactose intolerant, so we can’t hang out at pinkberry. Uh, I draw a little bit, mostly just stupid comic book style sketches.” 

Your eyes light up, turning to watch his face as he spoke. Woah, who knew Rich was so creative? I guess that’s what lonely people do, right? “Can I see some of it?” 

“Of what...my art?” 

You nod enthusiastically, finding yourself genuinely enjoying the boy’s company, much to your surprise. “Yeah. I’m so fucking boring, I don’t have a creative bone in my body. All I do is play video games and have mild anxiety attacks.” 

Rich laughs so hard it comes out as a wheeze, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he he smiles wide. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Y/N.” 

Really, there’s no reason to argue. You’re surprised that you can’t help agree with the boy in your bed. He brings one of his arms down, wrapping back around your shoulders. This feels...nice. It feels different than when Michael touches you. When your neighbor touches you, it sends electricity through every fiber of your being. 

When this shorter, more heavily tattooed boy touches you, though, it feels...strangely comfortable. Oddly enough, he seems to be comfortable with you, too. He doesn’t flinch at all when you lean your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you let the headache from all the crying throb away. “Have you been here all night?” 

“Yes. I told you, my dad doesn’t care about me a lick. I’m not exaggerating at all, I could disappear, and he wouldn’t notice. I left a note that I was staying the night at a friend’s house, but he hasn’t tried to get ahold of me at all.” He brings the arm that’s not around your shoulders down, flexing his fingers a couple of times. 

“And your mom?”

“Dead,” he says bluntly, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. “She loved me a lot when she was alive. I think I remind my dad too much of her, so he pulled away from me and-woah, sorry. Is that too honest?” 

You smile a bit, reaching out and taking his hand in yours. Gently, you lace your fingers with his, much in the way that you had done with Michael the night before. “No, I appreciate it, Rich.” 

The boy looks at you, and it seems like he wants to say something. He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, frowning as he clenches his jaw. You wonder if maybe he’s having one of those intrusive thoughts, and you run your thumb slowly over the back of his hand. “Rich-Hey. I’m right here. Are you hearing something?” 

The boy nods, his arm tightening around your shoulder and pulling you in closer to him, almost embracing you in a hug at this point. “You’re just as nice,” he says through gritted teeth, and you have no idea what that could possibly mean. It makes you a little nervous, the pained expression on his face. But his hand stays still, connected to yours, and his grip on your shoulders doesn’t tighten any further. 

You’re not sure how long you both stay like this, but your positions don’t change until you hear a car door in the driveway. You release Rich’s hand, and he pulled his arm off of your shoulders, sliding closer to the edge of the bed. 

“Thank you,” he says under his breath, and you’re not sure exactly what he’s thanking you for, or why he almost sounds angry. You can tell immediately that this is not going to be any kind of walk in the park. 

———————

You’ve never seen your father so calm, as his left hand works tirelessly taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Your mother is at the stove, preparing a pot of boiling water for some tea. As calm as your father is, it does nothing for your nerves. 

Composing yourself after your outburst this morning wasn’t too hard, your parents hardly seemed to notice the tear streaks on your face as they bombarded Rich with a line of very technical sounding questioning that you were much too tired to tune into. 

You’re seated at the table with your father and Rich, nervously tapping your fingers on your empty mug in front of you. Rich has been sipping on a can of Mountain Dew for ten minutes, but he hasn’t said anything. 

Hesitantly, you nudge your father’s hand, and he gives you a rather cross look. “What?” 

“What are you writing down, he hasn’t even blinked in five minutes.” 

Rich finishes another sip of the green soda, and clears his throat. “I don’t mind being an experiment, but can you not talk about me like I’m not here?” 

“Sorry,” you say, somewhat annoyed. This boy is turning your life upside down, the least he can do is try to show an ounce of the understanding he had shown in your bedroom. 

Your father sighs, setting the pen down beside the note pad and running a hand through his hair. This was something he only did when he was frustrated, and for a moment, you’re nervous of what he might say. 

The room is tense, quiet and full of answered questions. A gentle hum comes from your mother, her back still turned to the table as she watches the water steaming away in the pot on the stove. 

“Richard, how are you feeling?” 

“Man, I’ve told you, like, so many times. Just call me Rich. My dad calls me Richard, I fucking hate it.” 

“Language.” 

The teenage boy groans, pushing the soda can away from him and laying his head down on his arms on your kitchen table. 

Your mother’s impossibly soft voice chimes in, her humming coming to a stop as she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms comfortingly around your father’s neck. “Maybe he needs more stimulation?” 

The tattooed boy picks his head up, nodding enthusiastically and looking back to you. “We could go to the mall.” 

Oh, no. No, you are /not/ babysitting him out in public. “I don’t see how putting you in a crowded mall on the weekend is going to help. What am I supposed to do if shit hits the fan?”

“Language,” your father urges again, raising a hand to rub his temples. “Richa- Rich needs to be put into a social situation to see how aggressive the SQUIP becomes. The mall is a good idea, I’ll drive you there myself- Y/N, don’t even try arguing. You’ll bring some code red with you, and if anything goes wrong, we’ll stay close by so we can come intervene.” 

You want so badly to say no, but the lonely teenage boy is pleading with his eyes, and you’ve come so far already. 

“Fine,” you say, completely defeated as you push up from the table so that you can get ready for this, feeling too sick to have any of the tea your mother was boiling water for.


	21. Chapter 21

Rich Goranski is a ticking time bomb. Every minute that you’re with him, all you can do is worry about what will happen next. The mall is unusually quiet for a weekend, but you’ve noticed a handful of your classmates and happy couples waking by. 

It’s not even that Rich has done anything dramatic, because really, he’s been very well behaved. But, you know for a fact that he has a tiny super computer somewhere in his brain, and even though he seems totally normal right now, you have no idea how long it’s going to last. 

You’re watching him out of the corner of your eye, your hands blindly sifting through a pile of shirts on an island table inside of Old Navy. From the opposite end of the long display of tee shirts, Rich turns to you, an almost pained look on his face. 

“You’re not my babysitter, you know. We’re just hanging out, you don’t have to watch everything I do.” 

“Sorry,” you offer, but you don’t really mean it. How can he be so calm about this entire thing? You know for a fact that the SQUIP has made him violent in the last, and brought him unimaginable pain. How can you not be nervous? “So...are you seeing anything?” 

He sighs, re-folding a shirt he was looking at before placing it back on top of the pile and moving closer to you. 

He’s talking a little quieter now, careful not to say too much as patrons pass by the two of you.

“No. I drank enough Mountain Dew that I can hear something. It’s, like, having a tutorial playing in the background, or something. Like, right now, it’s saying-“ he pauses, and looks off to the side, nodding as if he’s taking in precious information and committing it to memory. “-that I should offer to get you a slice of pizza. It’s also telling me that I wouldn’t feel so awkward right now about you constantly watching me if I had some more Mountain Dew. But, see, I can tune that part out.” 

Your expression softens a bit, and you wonder if maybe you /are/ over reacting. Rich seems to be handling himself extremely well, and as far as you can tell, he’s being honest with you. 

You can’t be exactly sure just yet if he’s sharing the whole truth, but you take his words with a grain of salt and adjust the strap on your messenger bag across your chest. You really should invest in a purse while you’re here. 

“Pizza sounds good,” you agree, following his lead to the food court. You’ve only been to this mall a handful of times when you were a child, and the layout is completely different. 

Sure, this is where you got your dress with Christine, but you two didn’t end up walking through the hallways at all. “I’ve got the soda in my bag if you need it, okay?” 

The tattooed boy laughs a little, making sure to keep an even pace as he leads you to the food court. You see the neon lights of sbarro around a corner, but you’re distracted by the sudden feeling of Rich’s short fingers attempting to lace with yours as he takes your hand. 

You stop walking, keeping your hand still and open as you look at him in confusion. This was fine in your room, but now you’re in public, and it almost feels...nice? No way. You can’t deal with this right now. 

“Uh, did you SQUIP tell you to do that?” 

The boy laughs again, and for a moment, you think he’s just a little charming. Even with his headbands and tank tops, his energy was what some could call fun. 

“Actually, yes. I can’t tell you what, but something’s about to happen and I need you to not freak out. Just...just follow my lead and trust me. /Please/. Have I led you wrong yet?” 

The boy seems totally serious, and you slowly let your fingers intertwine with his, picking your pace back up as you head into the food court. Thinking it over for a minute, you consider the question. 

Admittedly, you’re not the happiest with the current situation, but this boy really has done his best to tread lightly, what’s the harm in seeing what happens?

“Are you implying that thing can tell the future?” 

“I’m not sure if the exact science, but I think it can just detect possible outcomes and guide you in the right direction. You really should thank me, you know. You’re getting second hand SQUIP advice for free.”

You roll your eyes, feeling slightly out of place, letting Rich hold your hand, and-god willing-holding his hand right back as you stand in line for pizza. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” 

The tattooed boy’s grip on your hand tightens a little bit, and you’re about to ask if something is wrong, but a hand on your shoulder stops you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” 

You turn, breaking the embrace of the teenage boy’s hand, and you realize exactly why Rich wanted you two to do that. Michael Mell looks like he’s just seen a ghost, thick rimmed glasses lining worried eyes as he stares at you, though he’s careful not to make direct eye contact. 

Jeremy repeats his question, but before you can answer, you feel Rich’s hand grabbing yours again. 

“She’s on a date with me,” he says casually. 

“Dude- what happened to your voice?” Jeremy’s the nervous looking one now, making intense eye contact with Rich. It almost seems as though they’re speaking telepathically, and the thought shakes you. Oh, god, Jeremy’s SQUIP has never turned off. Does Michael know? 

You’re too busy watching Jeremy and Rich’s stare-down to notice that Michael can’t look away from your and Rich’s joined hands. 

“Speech therapy,” you offer up, not sure where the sudden burst of confidence came from. “He’s been seeing my mom for speech therapy. It’s going really well...” you don’t want to over explain anything, especially when no one is asking for answers, so you try to change the subject. “What did you get from Spencer’s?”

Jeremy tears his eyes away from the much shorter boy at your side, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He doesn’t look like he believes your excuse, and you can’t blame him. He answers anyway. 

“Michael was picking up a case of Surge, actually. We were going to stop by later but...I guess you might be busy.” 

Michael was buying Surge? Your favorite person in the world was getting a case of your favorite drink in the world? Oh, how your heart ached. Seeing your neighbor in front of you again, impossibly soft and beautiful only cemented the differences you felt, being with Rich. 

Rich was somewhat aggressive, and although he shared some kind anxiety disorder, Rich didn’t quite seem like someone who needed saving. Help, maybe, but he didn’t need you the way Michael always seems to. 

“Probably,” Rich answers for you, and you feel uneasy. Of course, you understand fully that this is going to be the best excuse as to why you’re suddenly spending so much time together. But, you don’t like the wedge you can feel already driving between you and your two favorite people over this. 

“Probably,” you echo, and to your surprise, Michael walks away. 

What the fuck? Not even a single word, no eye contact at all. Some fucking friend. After everything last night, and forgiving him this morning? You can feel your face grow hot, anger pooling up inside of you. Jeremy frowns, bouncing on his toes a bit. 

“I...I don’t know what’s going on right now. This is really fucking weird...I should probably go check on him, though. I guess...I guess we’ll see you around.” 

You nod, and watch as the lanky boy half-jogs in the direction that Michael went. You rip your hand away from the boy next to you, visibly upset as you watch a smirk appear on Rich’s face. 

“What the fuck was that.”

“What did you want me to do, Y/N? Tell them that you’re helping me harness the power of SQUIPS for the greater good? We need a cover.” 

“And we can’t just be friends hanging out?” 

Rich shrugs, like he really didn’t think this was a big deal, and your anger feels as though it’s doubling. You cross your arms over your chest, ignoring the way your messenger bag’s strap digs into your shoulder with the sudden movement. 

“I don’t like the way Michael walked off,” you say after a moment, stepping forward in line, even though any appetite you may have had has completely vanished. The tattooed boy ignores you, ordering two slices of pizza and leading you to a nearby table. 

You sit, almost against your own will, arms still crossed as you pout. Why would Rich’s SQUIP tell him that the best thing to do was say you were dating? How could that possibly be for the best? 

“You should eat,” the boy says around a mouthful of pizza, sliding the second slice toward you. 

“I’m not hungry. Rich, I don’t want to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

“Then don’t pretend,” he says seriously. 

You scoff, staring at him in amazement. 

“I’m not saying we have to make out,” he explains, setting his impossibly cheesy pizza slice down on a grease-covered paper plate. “Let’s just hang out. Yknow, maybe we can help each other get through the last year of high school together, not feeling so lonely.” 

“I don’t need a boyfriend,” you say defensively. 

“You just need the boy next door who has no interest in either of us romantically? Is that /really/ how you want to spend the last of the ‘best years of your life’?” Tattooed fingers curve in the air, punctuating his statement with sarcastic air quotes. 

A shudder overcomes you, thinking of kissing anyone but Michael. Jesus, what have you gotten yourself into? Is this kid always going to be such a handful?

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a minute. Whether it’s Rich, or the SQUIP, you can’t deny that the words being said are true. 

No matter how much you wish that you could live forever in the words Michael whispered to you the night before, the fact that he didn’t say any of them again this morning only confirmed what you already knew. You can’t let yourself sit here and pine, losing focus on anything else and wasting whatever time you have left to be a teenager.

“We’re just friends, okay?” you say quietly, picking up your slice of pizza and taking a tentative bite. Oh, god. It tastes as greasy as it looks. 

“Okay then,” The boy across from you sounds content, returning to chowing down on his own slice. 

Eating pizza with Rich Goranski, your temporary platonic boyfriend, watching to make sure he doesn’t lose control of the nano computer in his brain. With a slight pang in your chest, wishing you could go back to how things were just two days ago, you realize that this is your new normal.


	22. Chapter 22

Nothing else all too exciting happens the rest of the mall trip. You still feel impossibly guilty about not following after Michael, but you did make a commitment to keep Rich under control. 

Which...turns out is a lot easier than you thought it would be. The awkward, twitchy boy you had grown so used to seeing at lunch had done a full one eighty, almost verging on ‘cool’ now. 

Since the mall trip went just fine, and Rich insisted he was alright, you and your father drop him off on the way home from the mall.

On your way into your house, you notice that Michael’s cruiser in his driveway, and for a moment you consider stopping over. It’s all too much for one day, and you need a nap, so you decide against it. 

Your dreams are confusing, consisting of memories of slow dancing with Michael and visions of Rich burning down the dance while you focus on your dance partner. You wake up once the sun has already set, and rub your tired eyes. 

If you were a more curious person, you might pull out a journal and try to dissect your dream, but you decide against it. Maybe it’s better to not get inside your own head. 

You wish you could get into Rich’s head, though. You’d exchanged numbers earlier in the day, but when you check your phone, you don’t have any missed messages. Nothing from Michael, Christine, or Rich. 

It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the bright screen in the dark of your bedroom, but you scroll through your contacts quickly. 

You don’t see Rich’s name anywhere, but you do see a contact saved as “Boyfriend ;)”. You roll your eyes, not even slightly amused by the contact name he’s assigned himself. 

Your eyes are still a little blurry from sleep, so you sit up some and push your blankets down enough to be able to lean over and turn your bedroom lamp on. Able to see the tiny keys a little better now, you type out a short message to Rich. 

‘Hey, just checking in on you. All good?’ 

Snapping the phone shut, you slump back into your pillows. Before you can even settle back down, your phone is vibrating. Geeze, that was less than a minute...but, at least Rich is responsive. 

You open your phone again, but you’re surprised by the name that pops up. You hesitate to open the text from Michael, unsure what it might say. 

It takes a few minutes of worrying about the worst case scenarios, but you ultimately decide you have to know, and press ‘open’. 

‘I saw your light turn on...not that I’m watching your room or anything. I know I didn’t say anything at the mall, I started having a panic attack and needed some air. I feel like I’m apologizing to you a lot lately, but I’m sorry.’

You re-read the words a few times, before shoving the blanket off of yourself entirely. Ah. You look over and realize that you’d left your blinds open today, Michael must have a decent view of your room from his house. Maybe it should be creepy, but you’re a little comforted to know that your neighbor doesn’t totally hate you. 

You feel extremely guilty and concerned though, you should have seen the signs that his anxiety was rising in that moment. 

Michael is the best friend you have, but you know he has a lot going on that he hasn’t told you about. You’re not conceited enough to think that anything you did could have caused him to freak out internally. 

Again, you wish desperately that you had a touch screen, taking almost a full three minutes to type out a response. 

‘No sorries allowed! I hope everything is okay.’

Within seconds of pressing send, another message comes through. In his classic headband and tank top look, a selfie appears on your screen featuring Rich safe in his own bed. He’s holding up a peace sign and winking, and you roll your eyes before reading the text that accompanies the picture. 

‘Did your mom tell you I’m coming over again tomorrow?’

No, you think bitterly, he did not. Thanks dad, I love having my plans made for me. You had hoped that you could go over and try to see what’s going on with Michael, but it looks like that will have to wait a little longer. You don’t respond to the text, shutting your phone and setting it to the side. 

Although you were sleeping pretty deeply before, there’s no way you can go back to sleep now. Maybe Rich was right. The boy is a comforting presence when he’s not too inside his own head, and he knows better than anyone how it feels to be lonely in a crowded room. 

Maybe you should just enjoy the time you spend together, listen to his perspective. After all, he’s been around all of these people a lot longer. 

These people...your mind thinks back to Jeremy. Maybe the boy just has incredible self control, and is able to block the intrusive thoughts the way that Rich did. But...what about Christine? Didn’t Michael say that she had a SQUIP at some point? You make a mental note to talk to her about it on Monday, feeling more comfortable with the idea of talking to her over Jeremy. You also make a mental note to ask Rich if he’s able to communicate with Jeremy’s SQUIP...

And think of the devil, your phone vibrates. Fully prepared for a needy double text from Rich, you’re pleasantly surprised when you see Michael’s name pop up. 

‘Do you want to come over tomorrow? Smoke in the basement?’ 

Oh, how badly you wish you could say yes...judging by the way today’s events went, you can’t guarantee that you’ll have any time to stop next door after handling Rich and your parents all day. Regrettably, you start out another message. 

‘I have plans with Rich. Just f-‘

You pause, remember that Rich said to follow what his SQUIP told him at the mall. You were about to tell Michael that it’s just friend stuff, but what would he care anyway? 

You kissed him, and he didn’t make it seem as though he wants it to happen again. Case closed. Just like the more heavily tattooed boy said earlier, he isn’t interested in your romantically. 

You delete the second half of your drafted text, and send a new message to Michael. 

‘I have plans with Rich, but can I get a ride to school on Monday?’ 

A response comes seconds later that reads: ‘You’re buying the slurpees!’

He doesn’t seem mad that you’re essentially blowing him off, you think as you don’t bother to turn your light off and settle back down into your bed. 

It takes a few hours of watching your ceiling fan’s blades rotate, but you’re able to fall back asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

Rich Goranski’s hands are moving slowly, with absolute precision. He has a pencil in his hand and a sketchbook balanced on his knee, his tongue between his lips as he works with total concentration. 

The short boy is seated beside you on the couch, where he’s been for almost two hours. Your father has a cup of coffee in one hand and a yellow legal pad in the other, going over all of his notes as the boy draws. 

After finally defeating the last boss, you power off your gameboy and set it between Rich and yourself on the couch, tuning into the conversation now. 

“What did it look like?” 

Rich shrugs, eyes never leaving the page he’s sketching on. “Kermit the frog.” 

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, I have seven kids in Newark who will.” 

“Seriously, dude. It looked and sounded exactly like Kermit the frog. I don’t know what to tell you about why.” 

You stifle a laugh, but your father doesn’t seem amused at all. He sets his mug down on the coffee room table and makes a few notes, sighing in defeat. 

“Okay. Fine. Where did you get the pill from in the first place?” 

“This guy at Payless shoes at the mall, met him on grindr. Nice dude, but super weird. I haven’t seen him there in a long time, but he had a huge supply of them,” Rich says, and you laugh again. 

Sometimes, it was hard to tell if Rich was being serious, but you had to admit you loved watching the agitated look on your father’s face with every answer to his asinine questions. 

“O-okay...and you just bought the one?” 

“Bought, yes. Acquired, though, like...I don’t know...a hundred? He wasn’t looking one day and my SQUIP was telling me to get everyone synced up, so I grabbed a shoebox full of them and bolted out of the store. Never got followed. I actually heard that guy committed suicide...or got committed? I can’t remember.” 

You sit up a little straighter, jumping in, eyes full of wonder. “A /hundred/? Where are they now? Are you just sitting on a supply of SQUIPS?” 

The boy shakes his head and finally breaks his concentration on his drawing, lying his sketch pad down on top of your gameboy as he leaned back against the arm of the couch. You desperately want to pick it up and flip it over to see what he was working on, but you resist the urge. 

“Nah. They got mixed into some Mountain Dew and passed around the school play. I think the story is that everyone took ecstasy, but it was SQUIPS. At least, that’s what Jeremy told me.” 

Your father raises an eyebrow. “Okay, how many students were affected...And who is Jeremy?” 

“Like, twenty, I think? And our drama teacher...oh, uh...Jeremy Heere, a senior at our school. Y/N is friends with him, I think. He hangs out next door a lot.” 

You reach over and smack Rich’s knee, giving him a death glare. The boy holds his hands up in defense, looking a little sheepish. God, couldn’t his SQUIP have told him not to do that? 

The last thing you need is your father interviewing Jeremy and Michael about all of this. The entire situation with Rich was enough to give you a constant headache, you didn’t need it turning into a migraine. Aside from that, you have a million questions for the boys anyway. 

“I know Jeremy,” you confirm, looking back to your father who is still scribbling away. Although you’re still reserved about the whole ordeal, you figure you can buy some time with this. “And I know his girlfriend, too. She was in that play. I can talk to them tomorrow and find out how they’ve been doing. Please, please, /please/ let me handle them.” 

Your father nods, and then sighs and sets his notepad next to his mug on the table. He runs a hand through his hair and then closes his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“That’s fine, Y/N...but, did you know this boy had a SQUIP?” 

You have two options here: tell the truth and ruin what little bits of peaceful cooperation that you and your parents have, or lie and save yourself. Though, of course, there might be a middle ground. Again, you’re a little surprised with your own honestly. 

“I was told that his wasn’t active anymore.”

Rich leans up, his elbows on each of his knees as he shakes his head. “That thing’s on. Yes-“ he glances over at your father, and then back at you before continuing. “The last time I saw him, our SQUIPS connected.” 

“Connected?” Your father sounds as surprised as you feel, grabbing his note pad again. “What does that mean?” 

“It means,” the boy licks his licks before he continues. “Whenever I’m around anyone with an active SQUIP, mine can ping theirs. It’s kind of like Bluetooth...or, maybe, like, matching with someone on a dating app. My brain kind of goes ‘hey, you guys are on the same wavelength!’. I think she’s right, though.” Rich gestures a tattooed hand in your direction. “I didn’t get much of a signal back from Jeremy. He’s either really good at mentally overriding it, or it’s really deep into sleep mode. Actually, I’ve never gotten any kind of ping around anyone who was in the play.” 

“Really?” You ask, pulling your legs in to your chest. “Wait...” you think back for a minute, remembering what Chloe told you at lunch on your first day. She said everyone took ecstasy at the play, but Michael showed up and killed the party. Of course. He’s the one who must have brought code red and helped everyone. A whole hero. 

“Rich, do you have any idea how much time passed between the SQUIPS getting passed around and everyone having the Code Red?” 

The boy taps his chin with his fingers thoughtfully, closing his eyes for a moment as if he’s physically pulling a memory from his brain. “It’s kind of fuzzy. I was on a lot of pain killers when Michael told me everything in the hospital, but if I remember correctly, it wasn’t even the full duration of the play. But,” he opens his eyes now, looking between your father and yourself. “I do remember that only Christine had some of the soda. I guess that had a chain effect and deactivated all the rest of the SQUIPS.” 

Honestly, this entire discussion is leaving you with many more questions than answers. You can’t recall exactly when Rich said his SQUIP went dead the first time, so you ask for some clarification. “Yours, too?” 

The boy shakes his head adamantly. “No, no- actually, the first time Michael came to visit me, he brought me a can of code red, but I remember my SQUIP telling me not to...” be trails off a little, looking off to the side. Is he seeing something? 

“Michael, the boy next door?” Your father’s nite taking has stalled, and he’s leaning forward in his seat a bit now, clearly as intrigued by the conversation as you are. 

You hold your hand up, in a bold move of defiance to silence him. “Yes, I can talk to him, too. Hold on-“ 

Working at a rapid pace, your brain starts putting all of the pieces of this giant and confusing puzzle together. “You said you grabbed an entire shoe box, right? And that was /after/ you got yours?” 

Rich nods, his attention turning back to you. Behind his dark brown eyes, it almost looks like there’s fear. You’re not sure if it’s from something his SQUIP is saying, or if it’s because he’s nervous of what you’re getting at. 

It catches you a little off guard when you father speaks again, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing. It really seems like this time he cares what you have to say. “What’s your theory, Y/N?” 

“I’m not sure,” you reply under your breath, before clearing your throat and crossing your legs. “But I’m wondering if the SQUIPS are produced in batches, maybe? And they’re linked that way? Why else would it work for everyone except you?” You’re speaking directly to Rich now, turning a bit to face the nervous looking boy. 

“It worked for Jeremy’s though,” he says with a shrug. 

“Well-his pinged yours though, right? Maybe it has to do with how long the SQUIPS are active for in the system, too. Like, it must take a little while to travel through your system and actually make it to your brain, right? Wait-how long passed between you getting your SQUIP and when Jeremy got his?” 

“Oh,” the boy takes in a sharp breath and it looks like the answer pains him. “Like, a year?” 

Your heart almost breaks for the boy, thinking of him suffering with a fully active SQUIP for an entire year. The room is quiet for a minute, until your father finally speaks again. 

“Your batch theory is good. And the timeline would hold up. You need to get with this Jeremy and find out exactly what’s going on in his head.”

You nod solemnly, not taking your eyes off of Rich. He looks sad, his eyes cast downward as his hands nervously mess with the bottom hem of his tank top. 

“I think Rich needs a break,” you say softly. The man sitting across from you both grunts in response, pushing up out of his seat and grabbing his mug from the table.

“I need more coffee anyway. Let’s take a recess and then we can draft up some questions for your classmates for tomorrow.” 

Once your father has left the room and entered the kitchen, you reach over and take one of Rich’s trembling hands in yours. “Hey. I’m sorry if this is a lot.” 

He shrugs, but you can see on his face that thinking about everything so much is weighing heavily on him. He laces his fingers with yours, and for just a moment, you’re glad he’s here. At least now someone else understands exactly what it’s like being so deep into your father’s research. 

“Can I look at what you drew?” You ask gently, voice lowered just in case your father is eavesdropping from the other room. 

Rich nods and releases your hand, picking up the sketchbook and handing it directly to you. On the front page is a sketch of your cat, in true comic book style, wearing a mask and cape like a little superhero. A smile so big it almost hurts your cheeks finds it’s way onto your face and you gasp in delight. “This is so good!” 

“It’s not-it’s just...”

Shaking your head, you cut him off. “No, don’t do that. This is /good/, Rich. Oh, my god. Can I keep this?” 

You’re still looking over every careful pencil line etched into the paper, but you can actually hear a smile in the boy’s voice when he answers. “I...yeah. I can do one of your dog, too.” 

Hanging out with Rich really isn’t so bad. In fact, you’re starting to enjoy spending time with him. He’s funny, he’s smart...maybe you guys could even become real friends. You want to encourage him, to tell him that you’d love to see what else he comes up with, but your father enters the room again and claps his hands loudly. 

“Alright, let’s figure out what we need to know! Y/N, start taking notes.”


	24. Chapter 24

Sitting on your bed, with a hastily scribbled list of questions your father wants answers to, you sit across from Rich. 

It feels a little silly, to be role playing through the questions your father wants you to ask your friends, but you really are scared of fucking this up. Rich has been nothing but patient, guiding you through the best tone to use as you blaze through bullet points. 

Rich is laughing, loud and bright as he holds his sides. “Okay, no-you can’t, oh my god...you can’t just ask Christine if she ever hears voices! Who fucking asks that?” 

You throw your hands up, slightly annoyed, but unable to suppress your own laughter. “Well, what else am I supposed to say? Instead of laughing at me, you could help!” 

“I /am/ helping. Why don’t you just ask her if she’s ever thought about having a SQUIP before?” 

“No! That sounds like I’m trying to recruit her! And I’m sure Jeremy has told her all about my dad’s research, she’s going to know somethings up.” 

You pout dramatically, moving your notes aside and reaching out to take both of the boy’s hands in your own. “/Please/ help me come up with something better.” 

The more time you spend with Rich, the more he really does grow on you. He has this way of laughing with his whole body that’s truly contagious. He’s still suppressing small giggles for a moment, but is eventually able to recover. 

“You’re cute when you worry,” he says, and if it were anyone else, you might think that was flirting. 

You rip your hands away from his, rolling your eyes and slumping back into the mountain of pillows at the head of your bed. “What do I say to Christine?” 

“Okay, Okay. Uh...what about leading off with asking her about the ecstasy thing? Say you heard a rumor, right? She probably trusts you enough to correct you and tell you the truth. /Then/ you can ask what kind of long term effect it had?” 

Honestly, you still can’t be sure what words come from the teenage boy and which words are coming from the super computer, but you’re grateful either way for Rich being here to help you with this. “Wait, that’s...perfect. I can’t talk to her about it during lunch, but I see her at wood shop. It’s last period though.” 

“When do you see Jeremy?” The boy leans back, placing his arms behind his bed as he lays horizontally across your bed. He’s watching your ceiling fan again, and you notice the way his eyes follow the blades. Doesn’t that make him dizzy? 

“First period. I’m getting a ride with Michael in the morning before that, but I really don’t want to rope him into this. I know what I said to my dad, but he’s going through some stuff and I just...I don’t want him to worry about anything.”

Rich scrunches up his face a little, as if he’s concentrating on something, but his eyes never leave the path of the fan blades on your ceiling. “I get that.” 

As much as he can annoy you, it truly kills you every time you see the shift in Rich’s energy. You wish more than anything that he could always be the sarcastic, almost puppy dog like version of himself. You really hope that everything your doing gets him closer to figuring out a way the SQUIP can do that for him. 

“Hey,” you say softly, letting your hands rest in your lap. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Different ways you can ask Jeremy how active his SQUIP is.” The answer is monotone, and you frown a little bit. 

“No, really. What’s going on in your head?” 

Rich finally tears his attention away from your ceiling fan, turning his head and looking at you carefully. His eyes seem to scan your features, like he’s looking for something. It would be safe to assume that he probably hesitates so much to open up to you because of all of the rejection in his past. That’s okay, you can be patient. 

After a long moment of silence, he speaks very slowly, as if he’s thinking over every word as it comes out. “I’m really worried about what’s going to happen when your parents have all the answers.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He sighs, sitting up and looking down at your carpet, hunching his shoulders a little. “Well, I...maybe this is stupid. I really like hanging out with you. I just know that when your parents finish all their research, you’re probably going to stop talking to me.” 

His words stun you a bit. Is that really the kind of person he thinks you are? Is this his insecurity talking, or have you done something to make him think you don’t like hanging out with him, too? 

“I...I’m really sorry if I’ve done anything to make you think that I don’t like hanging out with you. I do, though. I’m actually really happy that you have somewhere to go right now during the day, since it seems like home stuff isn’t....great.” 

He nods, but doesn’t look up just yet. “Yeah, no...you really haven’t. It’s just, people get bored with me really easily. Even when I first got this stupid thing, it only got me in the door. I got invited to parties and I made friends, but it wasn’t /me/, yknow? I was good for a laugh, but when the joke was over, no one was listening to me anymore. Jake and I used to spend every weekend together, now we hang out maybe once a month, and it’s kind of awkward.” 

“That’s Jake’s fault, and everyone else’s loss. Does he even know that you can draw people’s pets as superheroes?” Bingo. That gets a smile. “I think that high school just kind of sucks for everyone. Next year, if you go to college, you’re going to be so cool, man. You’re going to meet people in your classes who are interested in and passionate about the same things you are. And even if I’m not anywhere close by, we’re still going to talk every day. I promise you that.” 

Rich finally looks up at you, a small smile still on his lips. The familiar tone of playful sarcasm is in his voice when he speaks again. “Are you sure you don’t want a boyfriend?” 

You pick up a pillow and throw it at him playfully, scoffing. “Keep up the flirting and I might take you up on it,” you snap back. It really does feel good to laugh, despite all of the craziness going on in your life. He catches the pillow before it makes any kind of impact, tossing it back onto the bed behind him. 

“Okay, I feel better-let’s get back to it. How are you going to play this with Jeremy?” 

“It’s going to suck no matter what. I keep trying to think of a way to ask him without telling him exactly what I’m-or, I guess, what we’re doing. Ugh. Can’t your SQUIP give us some answers?” 

Rich holds his fingers up to his temples, rubbing them in small circles and closing his eyes. “I’m consulting the mystic oracle...hmm...no, it says to go fuck ourselves and figure it out on our own.” Lowering his hands, he gives you a grin and shrugs. “It doesn’t work like that, I’ve told you. It only talks to me when it wants to.” 

“Fine,” you say under your breath, a little defeated and completely lost for answers. “I guess I’ll just have to wing it. Maybe something will come up in conversation and I can slip something in.” 

“Speaking of slipping something in,” he starts, but doesn’t finish the sentence. He laughs wildly as you groan, covering your face with your hands as Rich laughs wildly again. This boy is going to be the death of you. 

Your bedroom door swings open, and you father stands in the doorframe, looking entirely unamused. “There sure is a lot of laughter going on in here. Are you two coming up with a plan?”

“Yes.” Your father looks a little distressed, but you assume it’s just exhaustion from piecing all of this ever-growing puzzle together. “Can’t we have fun while we do it?” 

“I suppose,” he says carefully, like he doesn’t fully agree. “I just talked to your mother. She likes your theory of the SQUIPS being manufactured in specific batches. She’s getting a few more medical hands on it, but for now she’s tracing where everyone in Newark got their SQUIPS. She’s going to swing by to pick up some code red to see which of her patients respond to the treatments, if any. Richard, she can bring you home on her way back out. She’ll be here in ten minutes-is everything still good upstairs?” 

The teenage boy’s face falls just a little, and you assume it’s at the realization that he’s going to have to go back to his own house again, utterly alone. He gives a thumbs up to your father, which gets a nod in response as he closes your bedroom door once again. 

“Have you tried talking to your dad?” 

Rich looks at you like you have three heads, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug a little, feeling like that may have been a stupid suggestion. It’s in this exact moment that you realize just how badly you wish Rich had some kind of support system at home. It’s also this exact moment that you make up your mind, that you will absolutely do everything you can to be his support system, if no one else will. 

“Look, I’m not happy with being ignored at home, but it’s better than trying to talk to that guy. My dad’s historically always been kind of an asshole, sober or not. I’m not thrilled about going home, but it’s lot easier when I have a friend I can talk to about shit. So, seriously, thank you for being that person.” 

“Always. You’ll check in later, right?” 

The boy stands, lifting his arms above his head as he stretches his back. “Yeah. I think I’m going to actually draw your dog tonight. I’ll text you when I’m heading to bed...would it be weird if I asked for a hug?” 

You shake your head, standing up to oblige the request. When Rich wraps his arms around you, he gives a firm squeeze, and sighs contentedly. Hugging him is actually a lot more natural feeling than you thought it would be, and you find yourself squeezing back before pulling apart. 

He gives a small wave of his hand, and heads out your bedroom door. You plop back down on your bed and pick your note pad back up, reading over the bullet points one more time. You still have no idea what you’re going to say to Jeremy, but you’re hopeful that the words will come in the moment.


	25. Chapter 25

It’s a refreshing change of pace from all the stress of the weekend, to walk up to Michael’s driveway and find the boy dancing in place. 

The white headphones around his neck are blasting out Marley, and you smile as the boy opens the passenger door for you. It’s good to know that some things never change. 

You slide into car, and once Michael is settled in the driver’s seat, he pulls out his phone and pauses the music. “Is it clingy if I say I missed you this weekend?” 

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, and you have to close your eyes for a second to reel yourself back in. Yeah, some things never change. 

Once you’ve recovered, you buckle yourself in as Michael backs out of the driveway. “No...I missed you, too.” 

Your neighbor is laser-focused on the road in front of him as he drives, but he has a small smile on his face. His tone is casual, but as he speaks, his fingers start tapping on the steering wheel. 

With no music playing from his headphones, you realize that he might be having some anxiety. “Is your boyfriend going to be mad that I’m giving you a ride to school?” 

The question catches you off guard, and you don’t answer right away. Boyfriend? What is he talking about? It hits you, though. The realization that Michael absolutely thinks you and Rich are dating. 

How could he not? How could you blame him? You held Rich’s hand at the mall, you let your neighbor think it was a date, and you blew Michael off to hang out with him. 

“Do you mean Rich?” You look over, noticing how nervous the boy beside you looks. 

Michael nods, biting his lower lip and worrying it with his teeth, fingers tapping away on the steering wheel. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, Michael. We’re just friends,” you try to keep your tone casual, rather than defensive. 

“Oh.” It almost sounds like the boy is relieved, but you don’t want to get carried away with the idea that Michael has a personal interest in your love life. 

You know he has a sordid history with Rich, and Michael is a good friend, he’s probably just looking out for you. “When did that start?” 

“Just since Saturday,” you answer as you pull into the familiar parking spot in front of the seven-eleven. Last time you were here was right before the dance, and the realization makes your throat dry. 

The boy throws the car in park and then leans forward some, the tapping of his fingers stopping entirely as he tightens his grip on his steering wheel. “You know his SQUIP is active, right? His voice hasn’t sounded like that for two years, Y/N.” 

You consider lying for a minute, but then you remember who you’re sitting with. This is Michael, for all intents and purposes, this is your best friend. You take in a deep breath, looking out the window so you can’t see his reaction to what you’re about to say. “Yeah, it’s active.”

“So why are you hanging out with him?” 

“Why are you hanging out with Jeremy?” You counter, letting your own fingers start to tap nervously against your thigh. You’re treading dangerous waters, but you know that you’re not wrong. 

Michael scoffs, and you realize that before now, you didn’t know he was capable of producing such a sound. “Because he’s my best friend, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“His SQUIP is active, too,” you say softly, watching as an older man puffing on a cigarette outside of the gas station. Anything so that you don’t have to look at Michael. 

“What makes you so sure? He drank the code red last time it was acting up.” 

You sigh, not able to control your rapid fingers against the denim covering your leg. If Michael really is the person you think he is, you should be able to trust him. 

You know that you’re not going to be able to lie to him forever, so you let him in just a little., hoping to whatever higher power exists that you’re not making a mistake. 

“His SQUIP pinged Rich’s at the mall. I don’t think Jeremy’s being totally transparent about how active his still is. The code red only puts the pills into sleep mode.” 

It’s quiet in the car, the engine still running as you sit in front of the gas station. There’s a heavy tension in the air, and you really can’t deal with any more melodrama, so you take a deep breath and finally turn to face your friend. “Can you please say something?” 

“That makes sense,” the boy says softly, thoughtfully. “If I really think about it, there have been some signs. I just...wait, does this have something to do with your dad?” 

You consider lying, or trying to put up some cover, but Michael’s taking this all really well so far. Maybe...maybe he can help with the Jeremy part of all of this. 

“Yes,” you say slowly, almost as though you’re scared to admit it. Maybe a small part of you is. “I don’t agree with most of what that man says or does, but he’s onto something. He...we.../I’m/ just trying to figure out how all of this works.” 

You take in a deep breath, and decide to lay it all out on the table. “I don’t want to secrets from you, Michael, I really don’t...and I understand if this is too much.” 

The boy thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. “It’s not. I’m actually really glad you told me. Jeremy kept everything from me when he got the SQUIP and-“ 

Michael pauses, looking at the clock on his car radio. “We’re going to be late, do you want to skip the slurpees?” 

You nod, settling back into the seat. “I’m not very hungry,” you confirm. 

“Thirsty,” the boy corrects as he shifts into reverse and pulls out of the now-busy parking lot, turning left in the direction of your high school. 

It’s impossible to deny that even in the most stressful of times, Michael always knows how to make a situation better. “What signs?” You you prompt, getting the conversation back on track. 

“This is going to sound dumb, but sometimes when we play video games, he’ll be super far behind me and then all of a sudden, it’s like he’s got a game manual in front of him. Then he’ll start beating me, and he’ll get kind of aggressive. You know-when everything happened on Halloween,” he licks his lips and pauses, pulling up to a stoplight and stammering a bit when he continues. “Not-not uh...not this year. Before.” 

Your stomach tightens in a knot, knowing that he’s remembering whatever he can of the less than sober kiss you two shared. Well, multiple kisses. All over your neck, and lips, and face...you can feel the threat of tears, but you push them away and clear your throat. “Yeah?” 

“Jeremy’s SQUIP was off when he called me a loser. You know, I never told anyone this, but I was in the house still when the fire started. I actually got really dizzy from smoke inhalation, because I went back into the living room to find Jeremy. I didn’t see him anywhere and the smoke was getting too thick, so I left. Driving home was...hard. I got into this accident. You know that asshole never really apologized for any of that? I had to ask him to, and even though I know he probably didn’t mean it, I just forgave him anyway, like the doormat I am.”

“You’re not a doormat, you’re a good friend.”

Michael shrugs a little, his fingers resuming their usual tapping on his steering wheel as he pulls into the school parking lot. 

“Maybe I’m a good friend to the wrong people, though.” The boy pulls into his usual parking spot, giving a heavy sigh as he throws his car into park once again. 

“Are you sure it’s active?” 

“Rich is positive. I want to ask Jeremy about it, but-“

“There’s no taking to that kid about the SQUIP. He gets really aggressive. The best I can do is try to watch him and the next time I see him off to the side, try to get him to confess to me. I really don’t know if it will work.” 

You’re a little surprised at how quickly Michael jumped on board, but it makes you feel like maybe this is all the right move. It would be so nice to have your best friend support you during this investigation...though, you wonder for a moment if you’re asking too much of the already spread-thin not beside you. 

“You’re willing to try, though?” 

Michael nods, smiling just a little. “Yeah, but you have to promise me that you’re gonna keep me in the loop. Whatever you find out, I want to know.” 

“Then I have a lot to fill you in on,” you say, without missing a beat. 

You end up skipping home room, sitting in Michael’s car as you explain your batch theory and the trials your parents have been doing both in Newark and with Rich over the weekend. 

Part of you wishes that you had a copy of your father’s notes, in case you missed something, but Michael seems to be keeping up with everything as you info-dump. 

All you can hope is that Michael isn’t being a friend to the wrong person again, putting his trust in you and agreeing to help.


	26. Chapter 26

Jeremy has been watching Christine in the track for a solid five minutes. Michael is sipping away on a can of Surge he’s brought for himself, and you are absolutely riddled with anxiety. 

Everything feels really tense for some reason, and you’re almost relieved when you feel your phone vibrate in your jeans pocket. “I really need a touch screen,” you mumble as you pull it out and open the text message from Rich. 

‘Good morning, totally not my girlfriend. Do you have any code red with you?’ 

You frown a little, and are too engrossed in texting back and asking what’s going on with Rich to notice that Jeremy is watching you now. 

“Is that your boyfriend?” 

You don’t respond until you’ve pressed send, and when you look up, you’re a little surprised at how intensely Jeremy is staring at you. He seems to have his eyes narrowed, like he’s accusing you of something. 

“Yeah, except he’s not. My boyfriend, I mean,” you say in a huff, glancing over to Michael, who looks just as worried as you feel. 

“Hm.” 

Michael claps a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, clearly trying to jump in and help. My hero, you think to yourself and try to suppress the swoon you feel. This boy is going to be the death of you. “You okay, Jer-Bear? You’re being a little intense.” 

Jeremy shrugs, but doesn’t take his stare away from you. It feels like his eyes are burning into you, as you try to focus on his forehead and not crumble under the intimidation. 

“Seriously, man, you-“

“Stop,” Jeremy says suddenly, forcefully. He shrugs his shoulders hard, forcing Michael’s hand away. “Stop trying to get in my head.” 

You sit up a little straighter, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Okay, yeah. That stupid nano computer is absolutely fucking on. Honestly, you kind of wish that Rich was here right now, or maybe that you had a SQUIP yourself. Maybe then you’d know what to say. Speak of the devil, your phone buzzes again. 

‘I think I’m fine right now...I just feel kind of paranoid. I’m seeing Kermit in my dreams.’

A grin breaks out on your face as you shut your phone again, shaking your head. Between Michael and Rich and Jeremy, yes, you were absolutely going to die before senior year was over. 

Jeremy is standing up now, huffing as he starts to walk down the long bleacher. Michael starts to stand to follow, but you shake your head and rise up yourself.

Of course, Michael was so sweet to offer that he would talk to Jeremy, but clearly his SQUIP knows something. This is your fault, after all, you have to try to be the one to fix it. 

You step down to the bleacher that Jeremy is currently on the end of, watching as he jumps to the next length. You follow carefully, one foot in front of the other, holding your arms out to stabilize yourself. 

It takes you a minute or two to catch up, but Jeremy eventually stops and turns to you, raising an eyebrow. “Y/N,” he says, and it sounds as intense as he looks.

Jeremy lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder to see how far back Michael was before he spoke. “You know he’s into you, right?”

You stop walking, looking at him with wide eyes. Any monologue you had been thinking up as you approached the boy disappeared. An honest look of shock on your face. He didn’t mean Michael, did he? “Who-Rich?” 

“You know who,” he says with a shrug, kicking the toe of his shoe into the bleacher. Yes, he did mean Michael.

“He’s had a crush on you since the day you moved here...” You feel your muscles tense a bit, and you immediately remember how soft your neighbor’s voice was when he told you how he was going to kiss you....you glance back at the boy, in his classic red hoodie, and for just a moment, you imagine what that might be like. Having Michael. Jeremy doesn’t sound as friendly when he speaks again. “So, maybe you two should focus on that instead of trying to figure out what my SQUIP is doing.” 

Oh. You understand fully now. Jeremy would say anything to get you uninterested in his SQUIP...oh, no. Are you supposed to deny it? Oh, god. And his SQUIP can probably tell that you actually are into Michael. /Fuck/. You hope the boy hasn’t said anything to your neighbor, glancing over your shoulder and meeting Michael’s eyes. He gives a thumbs up and waves his hand forward, motioning for you to keep walking. 

“We’re just worried about you, this has nothing to do with ‘figuring out what your SQUIP is doing’, dude.” 

“Hm.” He knows something. He absolutely knows something.

You swallow hard, facing forward as you walk beside Jeremy, his hands deep in his pockets. As the wind whips around your hair, you can feel the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes. 

It’s nowhere near as bad as Jeremy calling Michael a loser and absconding him at a party, but being emotionally manipulated like this feels a lot heavier than you expected. Not that you knew what to expect, really. Jeremy starts to whistle, and the casualty he’s exhibiting is extremely unnerving. 

You can’t let him know you’re crying, so you turn on your heel and offer a lame excuse. “I’m gonna head back, I don’t want to fall. You coming?” 

“You do that,” he says dismissively, continuing his forward-facing slow walk down the bleachers. He starts to step down, taking a middle row of stairs, presumably to meet up with Christine on the field as the coach blows the whistle for everyone to huddle up and cool down. 

By the time you’re back to Michael, you’ve composed yourself, lips pressed together in a tight line as you think about what Jeremy said. A crush. Imagine. No, wait...definitely don’t imagine. Just remember what Rich said. Rich is your friend, he wouldn’t lie to you. 

“Hey-What did he say?” Michael turns his attention away from watching Jeremy down below, and makes a soft noise of surprise when he turns back to face you. “Woah, you okay?” 

Michael is looking at you in this certain way he does sometimes. It’s like he wants to make everything better, and it hurts so much because he /can/. “I’m fine,” you lie, sniffling a little as you reach your hand up to wipe at your eyes. Yes, they’re definitely wet. 

“Y/N, if Jeremy said something fucked up...you know it probably wasn’t true.” 

Michael has absolutely no idea what heMs saying, but it doesn’t matter. That’s it. You hunch your shoulders forward, covering your face in your hands and letting a choked sob escape your throat. “I know it wasn’t true,” you manage to get out around heavy breaths. 

You hear the sound of a zipper scraping against something metallic, but before the boy can embrace you, you shake your head. “Please don’t...I can’t handle this right now. I need to go find Rich after this.” 

You look up, and Michael’s eyes seem a little darker than before as he reads your face. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask. 

“Okay,” he says softly, sighing heavily and crossing his arms. “I’m going to talk to Christine-I know you want to talk to her during shop, go ahead, but I need to ask her if she’s noticed anything weird.” 

You nod, and again, as much as it hurts to be around him sometimes, you’re glad Michael is here for this.


	27. Chapter 27

It really sucks to walk though a school hallway with tears brimming in your eyes, but you have a feeling it’s something you’re going to need to get used to quickly. 

Rich is already waiting outside of the girl’s lock room, no back pack, with his arms crossed over his chest. When he sees you, his whole face lights up for a moment, but dims just as quickly.

“Ouch,” he says quietly, hooking his arm with yours at your elbow, walking close enough that his hip bumped your messenger bag with each step. 

“It hurts?” You ask, motioning to your own temple to casually ask about the SQUIP. He’s pulling you a bit, leading you down the opposite hallway of your classroom. You don’t know what’s up, so you don’t argue. Not yet, anyway. 

“No, man. You look miserable, I assume something bad with Jeremy?” 

You sigh heavily, reaching up to adjust the strap of your bag over your chest with your arm that isn’t being held onto by the small boy. “Yeah, he’s onto us.” 

Rich stops walking, which causes you to trip a little, tightening your elbow that’s locked with his. “What?” You ask, as Chloe shoves by you, muttering an insincere ‘sorry’ as she laughs. 

Rich narrows his eyes, and it reminds you of the way Jeremy looked this morning. “You told Mell. Why the fuck would you do that?” 

Stupid fucking SQUIPS. “I’ll answer that if you tell me where you were leading me.” 

Another student bumps into you, and you think they call you an asshole, but there’s an awful lot of chattering going on. Rich starts walking again, and you shuffle a bit before following alongside.

“I need some code red and a cig, we’re gonna go to the parking lot. You cool with ditching?” 

“Yes,” you say hesitantly. Part of you is concerned about maybe missing a pop quiz or something, but you already skipped one period today, you can make time for another. 

Besides, it’s nice to be needed. “Michael is Jeremy’s best friend, I thought he could get some information. And...look, I couldn’t lie to him. The boy has me whipped.” 

As the shorter boy releases your arm and pushes the side door open, he lets out a wheeze of a laugh. “You and me both, dude. Can I have it?” 

He holds an open palm out as he leads you to what you assume is his usual smoking spot, some stairs off to the side of the building. 

There’s surprising no security, and it doesn’t look like any other students are out here. Knowing exactly what he’s looking for, you fish the can of code red out of your bag and hand it over. 

Taking a seat on the steps, still beside one another, Rich drinks almost half the can in one gulp. 

“It’s that bad?” You ask, crossing your legs in front of you. 

The boy sets the can down on the stone steps and reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out a small blue square pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

The smell isn’t too bad at first, but you’re a little worried about it getting in your hair, sitting this close to him. He exhales a long line of heavy smoke and shrugs. 

“I had a dream last night and it was telling me I needed to get you a SQUIP. I woke up in a panic, and couldn’t get back to sleep. I just need to take the edge off.” he takes another drag of the cigarette, and then spits on the ground after exhaling. 

Ew. Boys are so fucking gross. 

“Thanks, I think.” You consider his words for a minute, though. A SQUIP if your own...maybe it could help you figure out everything a lot easier...

“I do what I can. So...what did you find out?” 

You sigh, pulling your bag off of your body and tossing it down by your feet. It slumps sadly against the stone step, and you groan. 

“Fucking nothing. Jeremy was all-“ you put on a much higher, more nasally tone. “- ‘don’t try to get inside my head’.” 

Rich wheeze-laughs again, throwing his head back and tapping his fingers on the filter of his cigarette as he ashes. “Oh, my god. That’s exactly what he sounds like. Fucking pussy.” 

You playfully smack the boys shoulder, giving him a glare, but also a smile. “Language,” you say, mimicking your father’s constant warnings. 

This gets another laugh, and you have to admit, it’s nice to see that you have a positive effect on someone here. 

“Well, I found something out,” he starts, continuing to puff on his cigarette. And, yeah, now that he’s halfway through, the smell is definitely giving you a slight headache. 

“I have first period science with Jake. I’m actually super jealous of the dude because he stays so fit and does all these sports and every morning he has hot Cheetos and soda for breakfast, right?” 

The cogs in your brain are already turning over each other, trying to figure out what Rich will say next. Thinking over all the options, you interrupt him when you think you’ve got it. 

“And he was drinking Mountain Dew?” 

“Bingo,” the boy says, taking in a puff of smoke that you’re not sure is safe for any human being to have in their lungs at one time. He exhales again, coughing a little as he makes sure not to blow any smoke in your direction. 

“But the other thing I’m jealous of with that kid, is that he’s totally transparent. Not too much going on upstairs with him, super sociable and shit. So, any shifts in his mood or anything would be super noticeable. He was totally fine. So, I think you were right. Jake only had the SQUIP like an hour before Christine had this stuff,” he holds up the can of code red. 

“My mom didn’t come home last night,” you confess. “So, I don’t know how much she’s found out about the Newark kids. Is there a vending machine that has soda here? I want to try to get Christine to drink some Mountain Dew, I think I could get her to tell me for sure if anything happens.” 

“Yeah,” he leans over and stubs the cigarette out, rubbing the filter aggressively on the steps, leaving a large black stain and pile of ash. “There’s a vending machine in the west wing, second floor by the art rooms. Hey, you, uh.” He sniffles a little, rubbing his neck with a tattooed hand. “You don’t have to tell me, but my SQUIP wants me to ask you what Jeremy said. It thinks you’re really upset.” 

You sigh heavily, feeling like you could cry again just talking about it. “It’s stup-“ 

“Stupid teenage girl stuff, yeah. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care, man.” 

Another sigh comes from you. “He tried to tell me Michael has a crush on me, but then followed it up by telling me that I should focus on that instead of on his SQUIP.” It pangs something awful in your to say it out loud, knowing it will never be true. “Which is, like, really shitty because...obviously.” 

Rich nods solemnly, and then starts to twiddle his thumbs, content with staying beside you on the steps. He’s looking down, as if tracing over the inked lines on his hands with his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathes out. You don’t know what response you were expecting, but somehow this one fits. It makes you feel better, somehow. 

“Did the code red calm you down?” 

“Yeah,” he says, still focused on his own hands. 

You cross one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the step behind your back and leaning your weight onto it some. “Is the SQUIP doing anything good except helping your lisp? You’ve seemed pretty miserable.” 

Rich shrugs a little, untangling his hands from each other and slumping forward, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know,” he says, and he sounds almost confused by his own response.

“I thought it was going to help, like before, but whenever it gets up enough power to, like, command me or whatever, it gives me terrible ideas. Like, one out of every ten is actually helpful. I like the intuitiveness, but I wonder if it’s worth the side effects. The other thing is that it hurts physically. Like, if I slouch too much or if I do the wrong thing, it sends a shock down my spine. Have you ever stuck a metal fork into a socket? It’s like that.” 

You laugh just a little, shaking your head. What a very Rich thing to say. And, no, you can’t recall having ever done that. “Have you told my dad that? Or my mom? You know, you don’t have to do this for them...”

“I’m doing it for me,” he says, and he almost sounds defensive. The boy straightens his back and reaches his hands up to adjust his headband before he lets out a heavy breath. “Like I said, I have this thing forever. I want to make the best of it.” 

A hug doesn’t feel right. Rich isn’t the kind of person who always needs physical reassurance, other than in the form of someone physically being there for him. 

Maybe you have some kind of savior complex, but you wish you could make everything better for him. But, you’re just a person. You’re not a doctor, you’re not an investigator, you’re not a therapist. All you can do is be here, so you will be. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you say quietly, nudging his knee with your own. 

The boy finally smiles, nudging your knee back before hopping up. “Alright, we have like twenty minutes left before next period. Let’s go find that vending machine.”


	28. Chapter 28

It’s fifteen minutes into lunch, picking at the crust of your sandwich, when you start to get nervous. 

The only two people seated at your lunch table are yourself and Rich Goranski. He’s in a much better mood than this morning, scrolling away on his phone while you mess with your bread. 

It’s weird for neither Christine, Jeremy, /or/ Michael to be here. You’d thought maybe they’d be late, but it’s starting to look like something might be going on. 

“Text Mike,” Rich says, not looking up from his phone. “He won’t answer me if I do it. Ask him where they are.” 

You’re not sure if the suggestion came from the boy sitting beside you, or the tiny computer in his brain, but you know he’s right. You pull out your phone and send a simple ‘Where are you guys?’. 

In true Michael fashion, you get a response almost immediately. There are some blocks with question marks in them, and you curse under your breath for not having a smart phone. 

‘Come over after school. Bring Rich. Jeremy broke up with Christine. She won’t stop crying.’ 

You gasp, and Rich finally looks up from his own phone. “What?” He asks. Shouldn’t his SQUIP already know? The inconsistency kills you. 

“Jeremy dumped Christine, I guess,” you say, re-reading the text a few times to make sure you fully understood. 

“Holy shit,” the boy breathes, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Where are they?” 

“Uh, I don’t know, hold on...”

You click the button to type out a reply, but before you can start typing, another text comes through. 

‘He broke up with her at the end of gym, and then he just left. He lives, like, two blocks away so he probably walked home. I threw Christine in the cruiser and brought her here. Seriously, she hasn’t stopped crying. I can’t bring her back to school like this.’

You flash your phone screen to Rich, and his eyes widen a little bit. “Holy shit,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair. 

A worried look casts over his features, and he brings two fingers up to the back of his neck, tapping a few times. You quirk an eyebrow in question, and he winces a little. 

“Okay, Okay. Uh. Don’t freak out, but I think I should go over there. Alone.” 

“To Michael’s?” 

The boy shakes his head, and his shoulder twitches a little as he does so. “No, I think I should skip the rest of the day and go over to Jeremy’s. I can tell him that my SQUIP is being more active and told me to come see him so we can synch up.” 

An awful feeling of dread spread through your chest, and you shake your head adamantly. “No,” you say slowly, but seeing the way Rich’s hands seem to fidget about, you firm up your tone. “No, because that /is/ what your SQUIP is saying, isn’t it?” 

He nods, and tightens his jaw, as if answering your question physically pains him. You set your phone on the table and reach a hand out to gently lay on his thigh, keeping your voice as even as possible. This boy can worry you sometimes, but this is a little more than that. Right now, you’re almost feeling scared. Helpless. 

His hand is quick to lie on top of yours, and he takes in a sharp breath, his shoulders relaxing some. The boy keeps his jaw tight as he closes his eyes, keeping his hand completely still but firmly pressed atop your own. 

“Okay, hey, listen. What if...what if I call my dad? What if we get him to pick us up, we get you a full can of code red, and we stick close by while you talk to Jeremy. You can say all the same shit, but yours will be inactive?” 

“Won’t work, he won’t get a ping-oh my god, shutdown!” 

The boy rips his hand away from yours, clutching his own head in his hands as he rests his forehead against the cafeteria table. 

“What...what was that?” 

“I can shut it down temporarily,” he says, sounding like he’s about to cry. “But it just idles. It’s still there, it’s just silent for a few minutes. But, I can still feel...” he trails off, and you reach a hand up to rub his back gently. He doesn’t need to say any more. 

“I don’t like the idea of you going over there alone. Rich, look how much pain you’re in, what if you can’t override? What if...what if we call him?” 

The tattooed boy’s shoulders shake a little with each deep breath he’s taking in, and he doesn’t answer for a long while. He’s still breathing, which is a good sign, but...

“Rich?” 

“Yeah...okay, I’ll call him. Just...yknow, I’m not going to mean any of what I say.” 

You nod in understanding, sending Michael a ‘Got it! Thanks!’ text. Rich pills his phone from his pocket and scrolls for a minute, before finding Jeremy’s contact name and pressing call. 

The boy holds his phone up to his ear and stares at the cafeteria ceiling. You count in your head how many rings you thing are going by: one....two....

“Hey, man.” 

Rich closes his eyes, swallowing hard as he listens to whatever Jeremy says on the other end. 

“No, she’s such a bitch, dude. Started asking me all about my SQUIP out of nowhere,” Rich gives you a look as if to say ‘I’m sorry’. You shrug in response. Hey, whatever it takes. Rich just stares at you for a long time, nodding along to whatever Jeremy is saying. 

“Yeah...uhm. Actually, about that. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, start.” 

You blink. What the fuck was that? Rich’s posture doesn’t change, and his eyes are still clear and keeping contact with yours. Whatever it was, it must have worked. The boy’s eyes widen some and he nods dumbly. 

“Woah. Jesus, dude, why didn’t you tell anyone? Yeah, doing the same thing.” 

Rich turns away from you now, looking out over your classmates seated at the different tables around yours. “Woah,” he utters, and it doesn’t sound like he’s faking anything. 

“Woah,” he repeats, looking back at you now. You mouth ‘what’ but he waves at you dismissively. 

“No, dude, there’s uh...a support group I’m going to-it’s like AA, with sponsors and shit. I have this sponsor I think you should meet. I’ve...been able to control it.” 

Rich grits his teeth again, reaching up and tapping at his neck like he did moments ago. He clenches his jaw so tight it looks like it hurts, and then closes his eyes as he says “Yeah, I can call you tonight for details. Bye.” 

The boy sighs heavily and drops his phone to the table in front of him. 

You’re practically buzzing in your seat, reaching out and shaking Rich’s shoulder. “So?!” 

“It’s bad,” he says, eyes still closed as he raises his hands to rub his temples. “Okay, so, I guess something happened with Michael on Halloween. I remember that he called me, so I feel like shit because I blew him off and it sounds like something fucked up happened. He said he couldn’t figure out how to help Michael and so he drank some Mountain Dew so the SQUIP could tell him what to say and now...now trying to do what we’re doing but he’s been using the ‘s’ word instead of code red. So, the thing isn’t shutting off. Christine noticed, so he dumped her. He doesn’t even sound like Jeremy, he called Christine a nasty fuckin’ name. We need to introduce him to your dad, Y/N. But, we can’t tell him it’s your dad. He doesn’t trust you.” 

In your chest, you can feel your heart sink. Fuck. If you hadn’t suggested the Mountain Dew in the first place, this would have never happened. This /especially/ wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t kiss your neighbor, leaving him in so much distress that his own best friend didn’t know how to handle him. It’s so hard to feel like this isn’t all your fault when the facts are being thrown back into your face constantly that it totally is. 

There’s no time for self pity right now. You shake your head quickly. “No way, he knows what my dad looks like. Michael got one of his books and we were making fun of his picture one night.” 

“Reboot,” he says under his breath, and then he finally opens his eyes. “Okay, then your mom. Your mom can be my ‘sponsor’, and we’ll get him on the same plan I’m on. He agreed to meet with someone.”

You hesitate for a moment. You knew what the end game was, but this is starting to feel like some kind of cult. You don’t terribly like the idea of your father’s hand in all of your friend’s lives. Rich is one thing. He was your father’s project first, but Jeremy and Michael have been your friends since day one. Wait.

You think back to the promise you made in the cruiser this morning, and squirm a bit at the thought of telling your neighbor about all of this. “Rich, I don’t know if Michael would-“

Rich sounds almost broken when he responds, glaring at you in a way you’d never seen before. “/Fuck/ Michael, Y/N. This thing is /hurting/ Jeremy. It’s hurting /me/.” 

Part of you wants to defend Michael, but you know that Rich is right. The person in the other end of that phone call was not your friend Jeremy. He needs help, and Michael is going to have to just accept that. “Okay,” you say finally, not breaking eye contact with Rich. 

He softens, but only a little. “Okay,” he agrees. “We can tell him together after school.” 

“After school,” you repeat, reaching to your side and patting your bag, feeling the can of Mountain Dew that you got from the vending machine, still rolling around inside.


	29. Chapter 29

The rest of the school day passed by in a blur. Taking notes was hard when your mind was completely preoccupied with different scenarios of what could happen during your after-school plans..

Rich was standing at his locker, pulling out a thick stack of blank bus pass slips. “In case I needed to go to Jake’s when shit got bad,” he explains with a shrug, pulling a fresh one out and pressing it against his locker. “Bus number?” 

“Sixty nine,” you say, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone passing by noticed that Rich was committing forgery in the hallway. 

“Ha. Nice.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder. He doesn’t react, except for to let out a short laugh. You snatch the bus pass from him once he’d written out all the information, leading him down the hall and out the front door of the school. 

“My mom’s supposed to be home tonight, the faster we can get through this stuff with Christine, the faster we can make a plan for Jeremy. Let’s go.” 

The bus driver doesn’t blink twice at the bus pass-thank god-and you and Rich are able to find a seat together pretty easily. Rich slides in first, immediately turning to watch your classmates walk down the sidewalk out the window. 

There’s a decent amount of noise as everyone files onto the bus, but you’re more concerned with Rich’s concentrated look. From just his side profile, you can tell that something is on his mind. His eyes are slightly narrowed, despite there not being enough sun to warrant squinting. His jaw is clenched, despite the absence of any other usual SQUIP tics. 

“Rich, you good?” 

The boy licks his lips and opens his mouth, but then hesitates a moment. Whenever he does this, it makes you impossibly nervous, but the last thing you want to do is reprimand him. Rich is going through enough, he doesn’t need you telling him off for things he probably can’t control. 

“You need a cigarette or something?” 

There we go! There’s just the smallest tug of a smile at the corners of his lips. The boy slumps back against the bus seat and crosses his arms over his chest and his leg starting to bounce nervously, occasionally knocking his knee against your own. “Yes. But no.” 

You frown, opening your messenger bag and pulling out a can of code red. The boy shakes his head before you can hand it to him. “Save it for Christine, if we need it. That’s not what’s wrong.” 

“So something /is/ wrong?” 

After you’re sure both cans of soda are secure inside your bag, you turn back to the tattooed boy beside you, and realize just how sad he looks. He’s sitting beside you, but he suddenly feels a million miles away. 

Sometimes, it feels like no matter what you do, Rich isn’t going to trust you fully. You don’t even realize that you’re holding your breath until Rich speaks again, and the air comes out of you in a huff. 

“I just keep thinking about something Jeremy said. At lunch. And, I don’t know, part of me...wants to keep it to myself. But I feel like the right thing is to tell you.” 

“Is it about the SQUIP?” 

The boy shakes his head, looking away and back out the window now. “No, it was something he said...about you.” 

Well, let’s go through the options. You know for a fact that Rich called you a ‘bitch’-which you totally understand. You know that Jeremy doesn’t trust your dad, and doesn’t trust you, probably after Halloween when-

Your eyes widen, and Rich nods beside you. “Oh, no,” you say slowly. “It’s about Halloween, isn’t it?” 

Rich nods again, but doesn’t look at you. Oh, god. It’s going to be something about how Michael handled everything. You saw the look on his face when he realized you were crying over him, you can’t handle knowing what else your stupid stint did to your closest friend. 

Resisting the urge to cry right there, you shift in your seat and look forward, focusing on the sharpie graffiti on the back of the bus seat. “Don’t tell me,” you say after a minute. In your peripheral vision, you can see that Rich has turned to look at you. 

It feels like his gaze is burning into you, and for some reason, you feel guilty for not telling him the whole truth the morning after it happened. Really, though, you can’t be blamed, right? After all, you and Rich weren’t friends then. 

As if he could read your mind, Rich extends a tattooed hand to lie on your thigh, patting gently. “I get why you didn’t say anything. If you change your mind and want to know, I’ll tell you.” 

“I don’t think I can handle it,” you say honestly. 

Rich doesn’t push it again, riding in silence all the way to your stop. 

———

You don’t bother stopping home first, unsure of what awaits behind your own front door. It’s a little weird to be bringing Rich along to Michael’s, like your worlds are colliding all at once. 

Michael’s left the front door unlocked-thank god-and you don’t see any sign of his moms, they’re probably still at work. Michael’s cat is curled up on the kitchen table, and you give Shadow’s head a soft pet as you pass by, not bothering to take your shoes off at the door. 

“Michael’s house,” Rich breathes out, eyes scanning the room as he follows you to the basement door. 

“Yeah,” is all you can say back, your mind still desperately trying to forget the fact that Rich knows something you don’t. He knows just how badly you hurt Michael, and part of you is wondering if you should ask so you can try to make it better. Maybe later, you think. 

Before you can even descend the stairs, you hear the title song of Mama Mia floating up from the basement. Oh, god. Anything but ABBA. Is this Christine’s break up remedy? 

“Took you long enough!” Michael is standing in the middle of the basement, and Christine is laying on the brown leather couch, her phone on her stomach playing the musical soundtrack loud enough that it should be a crime. 

“Sorry,” Rich says, stepping off the stairs behind you and going straight over to the couch. Without any words, he takes a hold of Christine’s ankles and moves them to the floor, making room to sit down beside the small girl. She glares at him, and yes, she definitely looks like she’s been crying. 

“How are you doing?” You ask her, avoiding Michael’s eyed as you pass by him. He looks tired, and you’re trying not to let it break your heart. 

“Fine,” she says defensively. Christine unlocks her phone and pauses the music, sniffling and setting the device down beside her on the couch. 

“Christine,” Michael starts, coming over and sitting down on the small coffee table in the middle of the room. 

“I know,” she snaps back, and honestly, you’re a little scared of how powerful her tone can be. This is a far cry from the meek little theater kid you met for the first time two weeks ago. 

She sighs heavily, reaching up to cup her own cheeks in her hands. “I thought it was under control. I knew that the stupid thing had long term effects, but Jeremy made it seem like he was handling it. He used to be so.../honest/ with me about everything. And then, like, a week ago, all of a sudden he was really distant. I was just trying to be a good girlfriend...”

Rich raises an eyebrow, crossing one sweatpants-clad leg over the other and resting his elbow on the arm of the couch. “What kind of side effects?” 

Christine looks nervously at Michael, who nods in encouragement. She takes in a deep breath as you pull your messenger bag off of your body and set it next to the brown leather couch, choosing a spot in the middle of the room to stand. 

“Just-no matter what happens, don’t tell him I told you, okay?” 

Rich, Michael, and yourself all nod in agreement. Michael’s voice is impossibly soft and nurturing when he speaks again, reaching a hand out to Christine’s knee. “This is a safe space, Chris.” 

“Yeah. Okay....so, sex. Sex has always been weird. I guess the SQUIP shocked Jeremy a bunch for thinking about sex and so getting him, yknow...” she squirms a little, clearly uncomfortable sharing so much. “Off, was kind of weird for a long time. And, there was one night my parents were out of town and he said he was at Michael’s, but was with me. That night, he had this really bad nightmare and when he woke up, he kept saying that he’d never escape. He’d kill me if he knew that I told you guys, so don’t tell him this, but he was crying so bad.” 

Rich nods along as Christine makes her confession, and without missing a single beat, he confirms her story. “Yeah, same.” 

Christine drops her hands from her face, a genuine look of surprise as she turns to face Rich. “I’m sorry, I had no idea it was bad for you, too.” 

You chime in, taking a step forward and interrupting. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” Christine turns to look at you, her brows furrowed. 

“What long term effects have you had? You were squipped at the play, right?” 

“I...” she hesitates for a moment, and gives Michael a look that makes you regret saying anything. She recovers, though, and shrugs. “I’ve never had any problems. Not a single nightmare. I remember what it felt like, not having to think for myself, but I haven’t seen RBG in real life since I drank that awful stuff.” 

Rich barks out a laugh. “No way! Mine’s fucking Kermit! That’s awesome.” 

No one else laughs, although Michael looks like he could, if the situation weren’t so tense. “We need to absolutely talk about that later,” the boy says as he pushes up his glasses. 

It’s risky, but knowing for sure is the only way to move forward. Without any words, you move to your messenger bag in the floor and pull out both cans of soda. You hand the code red to Rich, and the regular Mountain Dew to Michael. 

Michael nods in appreciation, and hands the can to Christine. “Would you be willing to drink some of this? Jeremy had some a couple weeks ago, and that’s what kickstarted his SQUIP. I think we should make sure yours doesn’t come back, too.” 

Christine gaps, her eyes widening as she stares at the Mountain Dew in her hands. “And what if it does? You want me to turn into an asshole like Jeremy?” 

It’s a little jarring to hear Christine swear, especially about her boyfriend. Well, former boyfriend. But desperate times, right? Who are you to judge? 

Rich holds up the can of code red, shaking it a little. “This baby will stop it if it does. Temporarily, but it works. Y/N’s parents and I have been working on controlling mine for a little while. It’s not foolproof yet, but we’re not going to let you go rogue or anything. This might help us figure out a way to help Jeremy.” 

Rich looks at you, and you give a nod of approval. Michael clears his throat, and you can’t help but think that you’d do anything he asked if he asked you in the same comforting tone he’s using with Christine. 

“We’re all right here with you. Will you try?” 

The room is silent for a solid three minutes, the girl lifting the can to her face and reading over the nutritional facts as she weighs her options. With an almost pained look on her face, she looks around to each person in the room, and then pops the tab. 

There’s a small noise of surprise as she takes a large gulp, and she raises a hand to her mouth as she lowers the can. “Ew,” she says with a shudder. 

“Don’t diss the gamer fuel,” Rich says in effort to lighten the mood. 

Michael laughs, bright and happy, and the sound hits your heart directly like a speeding bullet. God. When was the last time you made him laugh like that? 

Christine sits up a little straighter, and hands the half-empty soda can to Michael. “How long does it take?” 

“Immediately after the first sip,” Rich replies, uncrossing his legs and clasping his hands together in his lap. “Nothing?”

The girl shakes her head, and a confused look plasters her features. “Nothing.” 

“That’s good, right?” Michael turns to face you now, and you weren’t ready to see those brown eyes just yet. Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to swallow hard before you’re able to respond. 

“Yeah,” you say, although your voice comes out a little weak. God damnit. “Jake was drinking Mountain Dew today, and nothing happened. Rich and I think the SQUIP takes awhile to actually implant itself in the system. The sooner someone gets the code red, the better.” 

Christine nods, almost to herself, her eyes focused on the concrete floor. “That makes sense.” With no warning, a horribly sad sound rips through the entire basement. 

Christine’s shoulders are shaking as her hands cover her face, loud sobs erupting from the small girl on the couch. Rich jumps a little, and Michael turns back to face her, ready to move forward and embrace Christine. 

Michael and Rich are going through enough, and you know this is all your fault. You cross the room and kneel in front of Christine, gently pulling her hands from her face and taking them in your own. She’s trembling, and you wonder just how many people you’ve hurt since moving here. 

“Listen, my parents can help get your Jeremy back. /Our/ Jeremy. Rich is going to go over there with my mom and see if we can bring him back down a little. I don’t think that I’m really welcome on the endeavor, do you want to stay at my house tonight? So you’re not alone?”

She shakes her head, tears still pouring down her cheeks as she stutters a response. “N-no...I really need to work on my English project. It’ll be a nice distraction. I-I think I’ll be okay. This is a lot.” 

You nod sympathetically, moving forward and wrapping your arms around the small girl. Laying your head on her shoulder, you look to Rich, expecting him to be watching the scene play out. He’s focused on something, but it’s not Christine and it’s not you. 

Michael is still seated on the table behind you, and you have no idea why, but Rich is looking at the taller boy with some kind of clarity. If Christine didn’t need this hug so badly, you would absolutely whip around to see what’s happening. Maybe he’s flipping you off behind your back. 

Christine pulls from the embrace first, laughing sadly as she wipes her nose. “I’m an ugly cryer, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no. Christine, you’re always pretty. Jeremy doesn’t deserve you.” 

Michael pipes up, rising from the coffee table, bumping his knee into your back as he does so. If you didn’t feel so terrible about yourself, you might call him out. But, for all you know, that was intentional. 

“That’s true, you are a precious bean and no one deserves you. Do you need a ride home?” 

You sit back on your legs, giving the girl enough room to stand if she chooses. “No, I texted my mom, she’ll be here in a couple minutes. Y/N, can you walk me out?” 

You look to Rich, who seems to still be watching Michael. When he hears your name, his attention turns, and he gives a small nod and a wave of his hand. The girl exhales shakily as she rises, and takes your hand in hers to pull you to your feet. You still don’t look at your neighbor as you ascend the stairs behind Christine.


	30. Chapter 30

“It’s just so much,” Christine repeats, plopping down on Michael’s front steps. 

“I know, I feel the same way, but I really think we can figure this thing out...” you’re not sure if you’re saying it to convince her or yourself, though. 

“It’s just so stupid, Y/N. This is a huge problem, how has no one found a way to remove or completely de-bug these stupid things!?” 

There’s a chill in the air, as November settles in. You didn’t bring a jacket to school, and Michael was nowhere near to loan you his hoodie. Not that he would, not when you’ve been so awful...god, Y/N, stop thinking of yourself. “I don’t know,” is the only answer you can give. 

“Your mom is a nurse, right? Can’t she talk to some doctors and find out a way to extract the computer?” 

Christine is dragging her nails along the stone on Michael’s front steps, and you wonder for a moment how she can do that without pain. She’s angry, something you’re not used to seeing with her, and it makes your brain a little fuzzy. 

“Well-I...I don’t know, actually. I hadn’t thought of that. They think-my parents-that if we can find a balance, this could replace prescription drugs and help kids with, like, ADD, or whatever.” 

The small girl scoffs. “Yeah, I /have/ ADD. I would much rather take something that doesn’t implant itself into my brain, thank you.” 

You’re quiet for a minute, really taking in her words. Why /hasn’t/ anyone come up with a way to remove these things? Surely, there must be some kind of safe procedure, right? If it’s a computer, shouldn’t there be some code written in to actually turn the thing off? You frown to yourself, watching as a minivan pulls up the road. 

“Talk to her,” Christine makes it sound like a demand, rather than a request. “That’s the only solution, Y/N. You and I both know that.” 

She gets up, and instead of her usual skip, walks slowly to her mother’s car. Christine doesn’t look over her shoulder or wave, and you’re too busy watching the car drive off to notice that both of the boys have come out the front door. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and jump just a little, turning around to face Rich. “We should go,” the boy says seriously, glancing in the direction of your own house. 

“Yeah,” is the reply given, though it’s under your breath. You shrug Rich’s hand off, and keep your arms tight around your chest. 

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see you later,” Michael says quietly, spinning around and running back through the front door before you can even come up with a response. With a heavy sigh, you follow Rich back to your own house. 

———

“It’s more than twenty-four hours!”

Your mother is flipping through a spiral-spined notebook, her eyes scanning quickly over each page as she looks for whatever holy grail notes she’s trying to find. 

You toss your bag onto the couch, and follow Rich into the kitchen where your parents are both seated at the table. 

“It takes more than twenty four hours for the pill to successfully implant into a patient’s brain,” she explains further, landing on a page full of half-finished bullet points scribbled out in red pen.,

“Shit,” Rich says, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. 

“Language,” is the only thing your father adds to this conversation, a mug in hand. This man drinks more coffee than Michael does Slurpees, geeze. 

“How do you know, mom?” 

“Well, there’s a girl Katie in Newark. Her parents called me just thirty six hours after she ingested a SQUIP, and we did some imaging. I’m not proud of it, but I snuck her into the hospital where I’ve been working on the weekends. With an MRI machine and contrast, it gave us all kinds of whacky signals but I was able to watch the path of the SQUIP pretty easily-look, I drew it out.” 

She pushes her notebook toward the tattooed boy at the table, and there’s a crudely drawn nervous system, with blue arrows indicating some kind of pathway. She’s talking a lot more loudly than you’re used to, obviously excited. 

“So we give her the code red, and the SQUIP stops in it’s tracks. She was super confused for the next hour, but when we did another contrast scan, the only thing we found was a tiny piece of metal stuck right around here!” She points her index finger to a bundle of nerves drawn out around the rib area of the diagram. “I want to see where yours is, Richard.” 

“Rich,” he corrects, casting a glance your way before turning back to your mother. “What will that do?” 

“Simple. I can check the path that Katie’s SQUIP was headed. Based on how long it took to get about here-“ she taps the spot on the page again. “I can figure out where it’s settled in your brain, and assuming it’s the same for every device, I think I can figure out exactly how long the process takes.” 

Your father raises a hand to his mouth, clearing his throat loudly. “When?” 

“Tonight,” your mother answers, turning her full attention to your father. “The facility will be free after nine, if we head that way now...”

“Jeremy,” Rich says out loud, looking to you once again. 

Oh, okay, that’s your cue. You take in a deep breath, rubbing the headache you have building away via your temples. 

“Right. Jeremy Heere, he’s freaking out. He’s trying to do the same controlled study but he doesn’t have any code red. He agreed to meet with Rich, and meet his ‘sponsor’-which would be you, mom. If we can get him under control, we’ll have two confirmed case studies between him and Rich. Oh, and-dad, we gave Christine Mountain Dew and it didn’t do anything. She only had the SQUIP for an hour, so I guess mom already figured that part out, but...we did what you asked.” 

Your father grumbles something unintelligible, and your mother’s eyes are lit up like the New York City skyline. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you. Yes! Where is Jeremy now, should we go find him? We could do imaging on his brain, too.” 

You shrug, and kick Rich’s shin under the table. The boy jumps a little and gives you a look as if to say ‘I’m getting to it’, before pulling his phone out and turning back to your mother. 

The tattooed boy starts to make a plan, and you realize that your work for tonight is done. At least, your work with the SQUIPS. Christine was right, there is a big English project coming up and you should really work on that. 

Without informing anyone at the table of your plans, you head to your room to start your project.


	31. Chapter 31

Your studying is interrupted in less than twenty minutes by your door swinging wide open, no knock or warning. 

You pull your headphones out of your ears and look at the source of the noise, finding Rich with his hand on the back of his neck, studying your carpet. 

Hm. Jeremy’s house is, like, fifteen minutes away. You knew you weren’t welcome, so you’re a little confused as to what the boy could want. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now?” 

“Yeah,” Rich breathes out, before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and giving you a look that you’re pretty sure is supposed to be saying something. With an overloaded brain, you can’t figure out another puzzle right now. So, you set your homework to the side and sit up a little straighter in your bed. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I have to tell you...what Jeremy said. And, uhm. Something that happened when we were over in the basement.” 

Immediately, you can feel your throat tighten and become dry. God, can’t you just have one fucking hour of peace? It must be important if Rich of all people is being adamant about it, so you take in a deep breath and look at the hot expectantly. “Okay.” 

“This fucking sucks, but you’re my friend, Y/N.” 

“You’re making me really nervous, Rich. If I really hurt Mi-“

“Jeremy wasn’t lying. He /was/ being an asshole, but he wasn’t lying. On the phone today, he said ‘yeah, I don’t know what Michael sees in her.’ And...and when we were in Michael’s basement, my squip told me to move along from trying to hit on Michael. Do you know why? It said ‘target has another interest’. Y/N, I’m so jealous but I can’t let you sit here and pine. It’s you.” 

You’re absolutely positive that your jaw is on the floor, your mind scrambling to understand. Is this Rich’s squip trying to fuck with you? You study the boy’s features, and find nothing but honestly behind his eyes. “So...on Halloween...”

“Michael thought he didn’t have a chance,” Rich says, and it sounds like the words hurt him to get out. On one hand, you do feel terrible for your friend sitting in front of you. But on the other...

“Text him,” Rich says, leaning forward and setting a familiar hand on your knee. “We’re going to be gone for awhile. I’ll keep you updated, but...do something for yourself for once.” 

All you can do is nod dumbly in response, watching as the boy pats your knee and leaves out your bedroom door, not bothering to close it. 

Fuck. No way. This is all too much, and way too fast. What do you even say? ‘Hey dude I’m so into you let’s be together forever?’ No, way too strong. It /has/ been a half hour since you left...maybe he’s already smoking. You know you can’t do anything about this if he’s high again, that will just be another disaster. 

You pull your phone out, only to realize that your hands are shaking. There’s some noise down the hall, and you hear your mother say a chaste ‘goodbye’ to your father, who is already in his office for the night. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing, but you finally compose yourself, and type out a text to your neighbor. 

‘Hey, are you high right now?’ 

Looking back to your English project, you wonder how many classes you’re going to fail by the time this is over. You can always pull an all-nighter and finish, though. Or, maybe, Michael’s already busy and- your phone buzzes. 

‘No...playing Warcraft. Is everything okay?’ 

Smiling to yourself, you imagine Michael sitting at his desk, MacBook propped up and slaying bosses with expert precision. Your heart is already beating out of your chest as you bite your lip and write out a quick answer. 

‘I think so. It’s just me...can I come over for a minute?’ 

Waiting for a response would kill you, so you’re grateful when you get a ping less than ten seconds later.

‘Yeah, I’m upstairs.’


	32. Chapter 32

Your father doesn’t seem to notice as you leave out the door, and for some reason, the walk to Michael’s house seems so much farther than it’s ever been before. 

Your hands are still shaking as you knock on the door, and you’re a little surprised when Brandy opens it up. “Y/N! I haven’t seen you in forever! Okay, just the weekend but-“ she pulls you from the front porch into a giant hug, and you find yourself hugging back. God, no wonder Michael is so amazing. He has such a good example here. 

“Hey, Brandy! I’m good, I know, it was weird not seeing you and Chesa. How is everything?” 

She closes the door behind you, smoothing our the apron she has tied around her waist. “She’s on her way home from work, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner tonight! I think Michael is upstairs, did he know you were stopping by?” 

Untying your shoes and setting them behind the door, you give Shadow a pet as the cat comes up and rubs against your leg. “Yeah, am I good to just go up?” 

“Of course!” 

The perky blonde goes back into the kitchen, humming to herself as she pulls down a large mixing bowl. You take in a deep breath and steady your nerves out before climbing the stairs. 

You know Michael knows you’re there, because his bedroom door is wide open and you know for a fact that voices carry. He’s already turned around in his desk chair, his hands clasped together nervously in his lap as you enter the small bedroom. 

“Hey,” he says softly, and you notice that he’s still avoiding your eyes. For a split second, you wonder if you made the wrong decision. There’s only one way to know. 

“Hey,” you say back, inviting yourself to sit on the edge of his bed, crossing one leg over the other. “I think we should talk about something.” 

“About the SQUIPs? I have to be honest, I’m a little burnt out on-“ 

“No,” you shake your head slowly, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “Not about SQUIPS.” 

Michael nervously rubs over his pac-man tattoo, and you realize that you didn’t plan at all what you were doing to say. In fact, you don’t even realize how long it’s been until Michael sighs heavily. “Y/N?” 

“Can you close the door?” 

The words came from your mouth, but they still surprise you just a bit. The surprise is shared by Michael, judging by the way his brown eyes widen behind his thick lenses. God bless his soul, he obliges. 

The teenage boy shuffled across the room and closes his bedroom door with a soft click, turning back to you and pressing his back against the wood. “Okay, what’s up? You’re making me kind of nervous.” 

“Yeah,” you manage to get out. “I feel really nervous.” 

“It’s just me,” Michael offers with the softest of smiles, and that makes this entire conversation even harder. That’s the entire problem, doesn’t he get it? He’s Michael: he’s sweet, and funny, and is the only person who’s ever been able to keep up with you on Apocalypse Of The Damned. He’s Michael, your best friend, your seven-eleven date, your lifeline. 

You close your eyes tightly, raising a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. Dear god, where to start? 

“Hey...I have an idea. Have you ever heard of the stoplight method?” 

You blink a few times, lowering your hand and finally meeting his eyes for the first time all day. It feels intense, for some reason, and you’re starting to wonder if Rich was wrong. 

“For something other than driving?” 

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug, pushing off the door and coming to sit beside you on the bed. With each step closer to you, you swear your heart beats a little faster. “Basically, it’s like hot and cold, but with colors. So, if I do or say something you don’t like, just say ‘red’. If everything is okay, then you can just say ‘green’. If you’re not sure...well, I think you get it.” 

You nod slowly, and the soft weight of Michael’s hand on your thigh feels like it could keep you grounded here forever. Without realizing that you’re holding your breath, you hear Michael’s voice soft at your side. “Color?” 

“Green,” you breathe out, laying your hand on top of his and keeping your best to stay calm. 

“Good. Now, tell me what’s up.” 

“I...” I have hopelessly fallen for you and I have it on good authority you might feel some kind of the same way. No, no. Too strong. You clear your throat, meeting his eyes once again. “I want to know if you meant what you said on Halloween.” 

Michael’s response stuns you, as the boy takes his hand off your thigh and shakes his head, giving you only one word as a reply. “Yellow.” 

Okay. So, maybe this /was/ the wrong thing to do.But, Rich seemed so sure...and more than anything, you want to believe that you have some kind of chance. It’s risky, but you reach back out and take Michael’s hand again. 

Any other time, You would absolutely respect Michael’s request, but you have to know. “Please,” you whisper, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Why? I thought we already agreed, we’re best friends.” He breathes, tensing a little when you rest your head against him. He doesn’t pull his hand away. In fact, he laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. 

“Fuck, Michael.” You let out a short laugh and pick your head up, pressing your lips lightly to the boy’s reddening cheek. “Color?” 

Your neighbor turns his head, his lips only a breath away from yours now. You’re waiting for another red, or hopefully a green, but Michael’s response is so much better than anything you could have ever dreamed up. 

Michael’s voice is impossibly soft as he untangles your hands from one another’s and reaches his now trembling hand out to lay on your thigh. “Y/N...can I kiss you again?” 

Your heart is beating impossibly fast, and you’re not sure you heard him right. Did Michael just /ask/ if he could kiss you? You can’t find the words to respond, so you just stare at him in amazement. He must take your lack of response as a go-ahead, because before you know it, slowly and with confidence, Michael’s hand moves from your thigh and comes up to rest on your cheek. 

Your breath catches in your throat and he shifts closer to you, bringing his other hand up to gently push your hair behind your ear. 

“You’re my favorite person,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips are so warm, so soft, and you sigh quietly, not realizing how badly you need this. 

“And you’re mine,” you answer, your hand tentatively rising to lay atop his on your cheek, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

“I’m yours,” he repeats back, and suddenly his half-open mouth is pressed to yours, a gentle pressure being applied with all the tenderness you’ve ever dreamt of. This is different than before-this is some kind of confession, some kind of agreement that you two are making...and it’s so much better. 

There’s no rush, there’s no secret, no uncertainty. Michael’s lips are still pressed to yours as he smiles, tilting his head a little and giving you gentle pecks. You return each motion, stroking your thumb along the back of his hand and praying that he never lets go of you. 

It’s soft and beautiful, even when he pulls back and says nothing, searching your eyes for any sign that you’ve changed your mind. He finds none.

“Michael,” you start to say, feeling like you’re in a dream. 

“Color?” 

“Neon fucking green,” you whisper back, leaning forward to capture his lips in an embrace again. 

Much like the first kiss you two shared, there’s no hesitation from the boy as you part your lips a little further to deepen the kiss. Michael’s hands stay on either side of your face, manually tilting your head a bit to get a better angle. You let him lead this time, trying to wrap your head around how you possibly got so lucky. 

The kisses are soft, quiet and slow as you explore this new intimacy with him. There’s only so much air between you two, and after a minute, you pull back. Michael’s hands drop from your face, but his eye contact remains just as intense as it’s always been. “Does that answer your question?” 

He’s smiling at you, big and wide and you swear that you don’t need anything else as long as you live.


	33. Chapter 33

You end up taking Brandy’s invitation to stay for dinner, and you have to admit, seeing Michael smile across the table from you is endearing as hell. 

His mother’s don’t seem to notice that he’s smiling at nothing, asking you a million questions about where you got your dress for the dance and how school is going. 

You offer to clean up the table, but Chesa insists that you and Michael go spend some time together. Well, who are you to argue?   
As you head up the stairs to Michael’s room, you get a text from Rich. 

‘Code Red worked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jeremy cry before. Update soon.’

You show Michael the text, but he takes your phone from you and sets it on his bedside table. 

“What are-“

Before you can protest too much, Michael closes his bedroom door and puts his hands on either side of your waist. He’s smiling that big smile again, and looking up at him, you realize that there’s nothing else you’d rather focus on. He looks at you for a long moment, not saying anything. The quiet with Michael is always so nice. 

“When did you know, Y/N?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When did you know that you wanted...this.” Michael grips your sides a little tighter, as if to emphasize. It’s almost too much, it’s absolutely everything that you thought you wanted. And, to tell the truth, it’s actually even better. You’ve gotten this far being honest, may as well keep it up. 

“Oh. Uh. Honestly? The first time I saw you smile.” 

“Shut up,” he says, but he clearly doesn’t mean it, breaking out into the very smile you’re referring to. 

“No, it’s true! What about with me? Was it the dance?” He pauses a bit, the smile faltering for a just a second before it comes back, even wider than before. His glasses slip down on his nose just a little, but he makes no move to adjust them. 

“No. It was when you pulled out that can of surge at gym.” 

That would have been...the first day you met him? Michael really has had ‘a thing for you’ since you moved here? It’s your turn to playfully tap his shoulder, shaking your head. “Shut up!” 

“No, it’s true! I told Jeremy I was going to make you my girlfriend that day, actually. And he-“ Michael takes his hands off of your waist, and raises each of his soft palms to cup your cheeks, physically holding your attention. 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and he’s getting help. And-uh,” the boy looks nervous as he wets his lips with his tongue, his eyes a little darker than before. “The offer totally stands, but I get if it’s-if that’s not what you were looking for.” 

His gaze is almost pleading, and it’s hard to think straight with his hands on your skin again, but you want to know what he’s thinking. “What...what offer? What do you not think I’m looking for?” 

He exhales shakily, stroking his thumb across your cheek in the caring way he always does. How can one person be so sweet? “A boyfriend. Me, being your boyfriend.” 

Your eyes widen a little. Michael Mell, your boyfriend? Okay, is this a dream? You realize you need to answer, but the reality of getting exactly what you want is hitting you so damn hard. “Like, I’d be your girlfriend? Like, you wouldn’t kiss anyone but me?” 

Michael laughs at this, letting his hands slide back down to your shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. “I don’t /want/ to kiss anyone but you, Y/N. But, like...”

You shake your head again, your own hands reaching up to cup Michael’s face this time, and his breath catches as his eyes widen. “But nothing,” you say, feeling like you could honestly cry right now. But you can’t cry in front of him anymore. “If you-Jesus, I want to be your girlfriend so fucking much.” 

Michael doesn’t respond with words, just simply leans forward and presses a small kiss against your lips, sighing as he pulls back. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. There was this guy I met online and that was long distance for a little bit but...this is different. I might be really bad at this, but I meant it when I said I’m yours. And I...I think that counts for something.” 

“And I’ll be yours,” you whisper, leaning your head on his shoulder the way you did at the Halloween dance, letting your arms slide around the boy’s neck in a gentle hug. 

You feel a soft kiss planted on your hair, and much like at the dance, you melt into the touch. Michael-your boyfriend-has his arms around your waist, hugging you as tightly as you’re hugging him, wanting you to be there in his arms. 

“Your moms, what will they think?” You murmur softly, letting your eyes close and allowing yourself to actually feel peace with the one person who makes you feel the safest. 

“They absolutely adore you,” he replies quietly, one hand rubbing up your back slowly. “But maybe let’s not tell them right away. I’d like to keep my bedroom door closed with you in here for a little longer.” 

“Hm? And why is that, Michael Mell?” 

Your neighbor chuckles, and for just a moment, you feel the flutter of butterflies at the idea of doing anything more than kissing Michael. Picking your head up off of his shoulder, you plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Because, Y/N, I-“ 

Your ringtone is loud enough to make you both jump, your phone vibrating on Michael’s desk. At the same time, Michael steps back from you and pulls his own phone out of his pocket, a worried expression on his face. “It’s Jeremy,” he says, almost in disbelief. 

“Rich,” you announce, grabbing your phone and flipping it open. 

“What’s up?” You ask quietly, noticing that Michael has answered his own call, stepping past you to open his bedroom door and take the call in the hallway. 

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Rich sounds a little nervous, but the sarcastic tone calms your nerves some. It’s a little weird to be alone in Michael’s room, but he’s your-jesus, he’s your boyfriend now. So, this should be fine, right? 

Your neighbor closes the door behind him, so you decide to sit back down on the edge of the boy’s bed, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder. “No, no. What’s up?” 

“You went over there, though, right?” The tattooed boy definitely sounds like he’s smiling now, which is definitely a good sign. 

“Yeah, he’s on the phone with Jeremy, actually.” You cross your legs and look around your boyfriend’s room, studying a kingdom hearts poster on one of the walls. 

“Right.” Not so happy sounding this time. Noted. “He said a lot of crazy shit, dude. We’re going for imaging now...I just wanted to check in.” 

You nod to yourself, almost knocking your phone off your shoulder. “I appreciate it, Rich. You need me to do anything from here?” 

“No,” he says quickly, but then lowers his voice a little, the smile coming back. “So...are you guys gonna do it?” 

You can feel your face heat up immediately, and you can’t help but laugh a little. “No! Just text me when you know what the imaging says.” 

“So it didn’t go well?” 

You groan, closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself. Not that you’re mad, it’s just such a classic Rich move. “Oh my god, we can talk about this later.” 

“Oh, you’re totally gonna do it. Use a condom!” He says with a laugh as the line disconnects. Jesus, this kid. 

Snapping your phone shut, you set the dinosaur of a device beside you on Michael’s bed. You take in a deep breath, studying the galaxy print comforter you’re sitting atop. Before you can get too lost in your own thoughts, the doorknob turns and Michael enters the room again. 

“Jer said he’s with Rich and his ‘sponsor’ and they’re doing some imaging for his brain-did you know about that?” 

You nod, still seated on the edge of his bed and your neighbor closes the bedroom door once again and takes a seat beside you. “Yeah, my mom is working on tracking how long the pill takes to implant in your brain. It’s definitely more than thirty six hours, which is why-“

“Christine and Jake aren’t affected, right? It didn’t have enough time to actually attach and program.” 

“Right,” you nod to confirm. “So, mom is going to do some imaging to see where the pill-or, computer, right? Where that ultimately ends up, and see if she can track the timeline.” 

Michael frowns a bit, curling his fingers inward toward his palms and fidgeting. “Hm. Do you believe everything Rich has told you so far?”

“Yes,” you say with no hesitation, eyes focused on his worried hands. If he’s your boyfriend, does that mean you can just take his hands in yours now? Do you now have permission to just kiss Michael whenever you want? 

You’re thinking way too much, so you pull yourself from your own worries and offer up a little more. “He’s given me no reason to not trust him. Why, what are you thinking?” 

“Has he actually been able to control this thing? Jeremy sounded /super/ freaked out. I just...last time was /so/ bad and...” Your neighbor pauses and turns his head some, a question in his eyes but not yet on his lips. 

Wanting to be as respectful as possible, you wait a minute before interjecting, as to not interrupt his train of thought. “What?” 

“I don’t know, I feel like...can I hold your hand? You always calm me down.” Halfway through his sentence, you hold your palm out to the boy, allowing your fingers to lace with his when he offers his hand in return. 

Michael’s shoulders slump forward a bit, his spine relaxing as he leans his shoulder against yours and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. Yes, this is something you could absolutely get used to. 

“Honestly, Michael...no. Rich hasn’t found a good balance with it. Christine was actually asking me about surgery options or overrides to shut the thing down for good.” 

Michael sighs a little, laying his head on your shoulder. This time, you press a kiss into his hair, which has just the faintest remnants of the day’s pomade brushed through the strands. He seems to stiffen a bit, but relaxes again and runs his thumb slowly along the back of your hand. 

“Is that something your mom is looking into?” 

“Not that I know of, but I haven’t had the chance to bring it up. I can’t really do that around my dad...and I haven’t talked to Rich about it. He’s so sensitive and I hardly ever see my mom, usually Rich is around and-“ 

You’re cut off by Michael, who has picked his head up and is seemingly studying your profile, his head tilted a bit. “Who takes care of you?” 

Oh. That shouldn’t have hurt your heart as much as it did. You know what the answer is, but saying it out loud would bring tears for sure. A beat. A pause. “What do you mean?” 

“I asked who takes care of you, Y/N. The way you’re managing all of the research stuff, Rich, my stupid anxiety shit, school, the way you handled Christine today. You’re always taking care of everyone...who takes care of you?” 

You shrug, pulling your hand away from Michael’s, feeling your entire body heat up. It felt so weird to be seen this way, to be acknowledged and to hear validation to this extreme. “Me, I guess?”

The boy doesn’t smile, his face is even and somewhat serious as he lets out a huff through his nose. “I want to try to be that person for you. I want to take care of you. I want to hold you and care for you and I want to be a safe place for you. I want to be your home.” 

Your boyfriend’s eyes water just a bit, but it doesn’t hurt your heart to see. It’s a lot to take in, but you nod slowly as he raises a wrist to wipe his eyes behind his glasses, the plastic clinking against his beaded bracelet. 

“Here, uh-“ he gets up suddenly, and moves to the same side of the bed he slept on when you stayed during Halloween. “Neither of my parents are gonna check on us for a while, you’ve looked so tired, so...” he trails off as he lays flat on his back and crosses his arms behind his head. “Come lay with me.” 

Your first instinct is to decline, but things are different now. Better now, and sharing Michael’s bed seems a lot less daunting when you know that you’re wanted there. You oblige, crawling into bed beside him and hesitantly scooting to be by his side. 

The boy gives a small laugh, bringing one arm down to wrap around your shoulders and pull you close. With a contented sigh, you let your head rest on his chest, slowly letting you arm slide around his waist. His heartbeat is even and steady under your ear, and it’s incredibly hard to stay awake. 

In the quiet of your boyfriend’s bedroom, you slowly drift to sleep with Michael’s arm around you.


	34. Chapter 34

Half asleep, you feel Michael’s shoulder shift under your head, and the boy’s voice is soft as he coaxed you awake. 

“Rich is on the phone,” he says as he starts to sit up, causing you to do the same. Your jaw clicks a bit as you yawn, taking your cell phone from Michael and running your hand through your hair. It’s been awhile since you’ve slept so well. 

“Mm’ello?” 

“Jesus, Y/N, that’s not what I meant when I told you sleep with him.” 

You open your eyes fully now, making a disappointed face. Michael quirks an eyebrow but you shake your head. “Shut up. Imaging went well?” 

“Kind of. It’s something like fifty hours, so you-uh, the sponsor is putting it down at forty eight hours. Jeremy’s on the phone with Christine, he’s been begging for her forgiveness for like twenty minutes.” 

“Shit,” you breathe, holding up a hand when Michael leans forward in concern. “Christine is going to tell him that you’re with my mom.” 

Rich let’s out a heavy breath, and you can hear the sound of a lighter click on the other end of the phone. “I think he can handle it,” he says through an exhale. 

“Are you headed home now?” 

“No, no. Uh. I’m gonna stay with Jeremy tonight, actually.” 

“And you’re up for that?” You shrug a little bit, smoothing the front of your shirt which is wrinkled from sleep. “I could always-“ 

“Stop playing hero for one night, Y/N. I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t, yeah?” 

You think for a moment, listening to the boy exhale what you imagine to be large puffs of smoke. He’s probably sitting on a curb, bouncing his leg and watching as his cigarette burns. “Yeah, you would. Okay. Well, listen, call me if you need me, Okay?” 

“I always do,” he says quietly, but doesn’t hang up just yet. There are no voices in the background, so you’re pretty sure he’s alone. 

“Rich?” 

“Yeah.”

“We’re...dating, I think.” You turn to Michael, and his lopsided grin and excited nod makes your heart flutter all over again. “I just...yknow, I don’t want you to hear it somewhere else.”

Rich takes in a deep breath, but it doesn’t sound like he’s taking in any smoke. “Yeah, I kind of figured that would happen. I’m okay, but can you do me a favor?” 

“Yeah, of course. Anything.” 

“Don’t fuck it up,” he says, more seriously than you’re expecting. You nod to yourself, breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. 

“I certainly don’t plan to.” Rich did encourage you to talk with Michael, but you can understand the boy’s concern. Your friend has been interested in your neighbor for far longer, and someone as sweet as Michael invokes quite a lot of protective instinct, you know this for a fact. 

Rich sounds like he might be smiling again when he responds. “Good. Uh-Jeremy’s coming outside. Talk soon.”

“Talk soon,” you repeat, closing your phone and ending the conversation. 

“Forty-eight hours,” you say to Michael, raising your hands to rub the sleep from your eyes. “That’s how long the squip takes to implant.” 

“Huh. Good to know. Where are they going now?”

“Uh, Rich is staying with Jeremy tonight. I don’t know where my mom is going. Home, I think. Probably to fill my dad in and log everything.” 

“Do you want to talk to her tonight? About...other options?” Michael scoots back some, leaning his head back against his headboard and closing his eyes. He looks tired, too, did he sleep at all just now? 

“I don’t know where I’d start,” you answer honestly, pulling your knees to our chest and leaning back against Michael’s Star Wars pillows. “And if my dad is there, I don’t know how to get her alone.” 

“You could tell her you want to go get fast food burgers together and tell her you want to talk about girl stuff?” 

“Like what?” You snort a little as you laugh. Your mother has never been what you’d call a confidante. 

“Like your new boyfriend,” he suggests with a grin, blindly reaching out to playfully shove your forearm. 

You mull the idea over in your head for a bit, imagining the scenario. And, honestly? It could work. “Maybe. I don’t know, my parents aren’t like yours. Your moms are so, I don’t know, nice and supportive. I mean, I think I’ve gotten more hugs from Brandy in the last month than I have from my own parents in my lifetime.” 

“That’s sad,” Michael says immediately, lifting his head up and running a hand through his tousled hair. “You know, next year is going to be a lot easier. Do you know where you’re applying for college?” 

You look down, shrugging some. Truthfully, the thought of college was overwhelming. As much as you craved the freedom and liberation, you would have no idea what to do if no one was guiding you. 

“Well, I’m applying to NYU and Barnard. Have you ever lived in New York? It’s not far, less than a five hour drive if we use the tunnel, so /we/ would be fine, I think.” 

“We, like, as a couple? That’s...god, you’re sweet. I lived upstate for a little while, never in the city. I don’t even know what I would want to go to college for, Michael.” Maybe the idea of future plans should scare you, but thinking of having this boy by your side for a while is a comfort. 

“No one expects you to have it figured out, y’know. I wanna do something with graphic design, I think. Or maybe, like, engineering or something? I want to work with video game companies, that’s as far as I’ve gotten.” 

The way Michael’s face lights up when he talks about the things he loves is so charming. You wish you had something that lit that kind of fire inside of you, except for anger at your parents. “I’ll figure something out,” you say, still looking down. 

“I’m here for you. Even if you decide you don’t want to do college, we can always get a kick ass studio in the city or something. Sorry-I shouldn’t be talking long term plans, right? I warned you I would be bad at this.” 

You shake your head, sitting up on your knees so you can wrap your arms around Michael’s neck, sniffling a little. It’s awfully hard not to feel sorry for yourself, but you don’t want this relationship to be all about your needs all the time.

It’s so wonderful to have Michael as a rock, but he can’t be your everything. You thank him softly, closing your eyes as he wraps his arms around your middle and holds you against him. 

“You’re wonderful, don’t apologize. I really like to think of a future without my parents in it.” 

Michael sighs, and this time, it doesn’t sound so contented. “Speaking of which, you should probably head over there. Not that I don’t love you being in my bed, of course, but-“

“But,” you pull back some, sitting back on your legs and looking over your boyfriend’s face. “I should talk to my mom. Thank you for the nap.” 

You start to move off of the bed, but the boy grabs your hand suddenly, biting his lip as he leans forward some. “Wait- can I...can I kiss you before you leave?” 

You smile, feeling your cheeks heat up with a blush as you nod a little and lean to meet him, pressing your lips gently against your neighbor’s. You can feel a small smile as he pulls back, releasing your hand and settling into his pillow. “Okay, you know where to find me if you need me.” 

“I do.”


	35. Chapter 35

Watching the streetlights pass by as you sit somewhat awkwardly in the passenger seat, you listen to your mother hum along to the radio.

Surprisingly, she seemed thrilled at the idea of some mother daughter one-on-one time, hurriedly rushing right back out the door she’d just entered. 

The seatbelt locked a few minutes ago, but you feel tense and let it press against your chest uncomfortably. The pressure from the strap is nothing compared to the weight you feel in your chest, weighing your words in your mind. 

Where to start? Do you start with the news of your boyfriend? Your concerns about Rich and Jeremy? The fact that you still haven’t finished your English paper and it’s almost midnight?

“I think everything but McDonald’s is closed, did you have a place in mind?”

You frown a little at the idea of over-salted fries and processed meat, but shrug anyway. 

This trip is not about the meal, after all. “A drive thru is fine,” you answer. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the text on the screen reads: 

‘I just woke up and I’m not sure if I was dreaming before...did you agree to be my girlfriend today and if you did was it a prank? Asking for a friend.’ 

Instead of butterflies, it feels like a zoo running a stampede through your insides, a huge smile breaking on your face. Is he always this charming? You reply quickly. 

‘’Not a dream, not a prank. No take backs, either. You’re stuck with me now.’

‘Wow, hard bargain. Does my girlfriend need a ride tomorrow?’

‘I heard that she does and that it’s customary for official girlfriends to pay for slushees, sev elev is on me.’ 

‘Jackpot!’ 

You’ve honestly almost forgotten where you were, caught up in the back and forth with Michael. 

“Is that Richard?” Your mom asks, pulling into a much too long line at the McDonald’s a few streets from the house. 

“No, actually, it’s uh- I wanted to talk to you about-“ 

“Before you do that,” she throws the car in park, placing both hands on the steering wheel and taking in a deep breath. 

“I need to ask you some questions about your friend Jeremy. His SQUIP was extremely resistant to the imaging, it shocked me when I tried to get a clear picture. Richard’s didn’t do that, /and/ Jeremy had code red. Y/N, I think Jeremy has a defective product.” 

Your eyes widen some, and you try to focus on the red glow of the taillights in front of you at the drive thru. 

“But Rich is with him tonight, does he know? Is he dangerous?” 

“Possibly dangerous. But, no,” your mother is using that voice she uses whenever you fail a test. “And I don’t want him to. I have three kids in Newark right around your age, and I’ve been doing the same trial with them that we’ve been doing with Rich. Two of them are great, both healthy young girls, and one boy who has bipolar disorder. It’s not going well with the boy.” 

“Fuck,” you breathe, and your mother’s hand swiftly comes down to swat your thigh. Yeah, you deserved that one. 

The car ahead of the van moves up, and your mother rolls down her window as she approaches the speaker. “What do you want?” She asks quietly, turning to face you. 

Her eyes are dark and serious, something you’re not used to seeing on your mother, and suddenly you’re not very hungry. “Just some fries,” you reply weakly. 

She orders herself a burger and your French fries, pulling through the drive thru in silence. After obtaining the much too greasy and much too overpriced food, she pulls into a parking space. 

The crinkling of fast food paper as she unwraps her dinner feels much too loud for the van. This feels nothing like sitting passenger to Michael, the air feels tense and even though this is your mother, you feel as though you’re eating dinner with a stranger. 

The fries are nothing to write home about, too salty on your tongue, and somewhat spongy in the middle. What else can you expect from McDonald’s, though? 

“What if it’s not defective, mom? What if it’s the mood disorder interacting with whatever the SQUIP is doing?” 

“Hm.” She makes a noise around a mouthful of processed meat, cocking her head some as she turns off the headlights. 

The vehicle is still humming, the keys in the ignition as she leans back into the seat. “That’s possible. But, I would need to do more trials to find out if that’s the case.” 

“But...if it is, then what’s the plan? What if people who have existing conditions can’t have the squip? There has to be some way to remove it, or to override it, or something. Mom, you can’t keep doing trials. That shock Jeremy’s gave you? Rich said that happens in his /spine/ when he does something the squip deems ‘wrong’!”

Your mother is chewing slowly, almost as if she can’t stand the food that’s in her mouth currently. She swallows, and wraps her burger back up, placing it in her lap.

“Does Jeremy have a pre-existing condition?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked him ‘hey, dude, got any mental health issues?’” You scoff, tossing your full order of fries back into the fast food back and crossing your arms. 

“Hey, /I’m/ not the enemy here.” 

“If you really wanted to help, you would find a way to stop these things instead of controlling them. Is this even legal, mom? These are teenagers, even if they’re legally adults, what would their parents say? Have you even talked to any parents?” 

“Your father doesn’t want-“ 

And that’s it. The mention of your father’s reign is too much for you. You let out an exasperated sigh and finally break. You can’t remember the last time you interrupted your mom like this, but one can only take so much. 

“I didn’t realize that he was your father, too. You’re messing with /kids/. With my /friends./ you say you’re not the enemy, then act like an ally. You need to talk to someone’s parents and maybe a doctor friend and figure something out! There has to be a solution. We can’t track where they’re coming from, we can’t stop them. Maybe you can be the one to find the cure instead of the way to control it.” 

Your mother is close to tears, her knuckles white as she grips the steering wheel tightly in her hands. You’re ready for the world to come crashing down on you, for fury to build and for you to be dropped off right here in the parking lot. 

But, instead, your mother just lets out a shaky breath. “I know.”

“You know which part? That you’re not helping anymore, or that you’re letting my father control you?” 

The words feel like hot venom on your tongue, meant as a direct attack for the fragile woman sitting beside you. Maybe you shouldn’t talk to you mother like that, but there are a lot of things that as your mother, this woman shouldn’t do. 

Another deep breath, and your mom looks impossibly weak as she sinks deeper into her seat. At this rate, she’s going to rip the steering wheel off with her tight grip. 

“I’ll talk to a doctor first, I can think of a few I can reach out to. Once I have an idea for a solution, I’ll talk to parents. Has...have either of your friend expressed interest in getting rid of theirs?” 

You’re watching the cars pull through the drive through in the rear-view mirror when you sigh. “Yes. In not so many words.” 

“Oh,” is the only response you get from your mother. 

It’s tense for a moment as your mother collects herself, but she swallows back whatever sob she’s holding, and finally sits back up. She turns the radio on, as if nothing happened, and starts back home. 

You have nothing else to say, just hopes that she’ll actually follow through on her promise. When you’re finally back in your driveway, before you reach for the door handle, your mother’s hand lands on your knee. 

“Don’t breathe a word of this to him,” she says quietly, sternly. Yeah, like you would tell your father /anything/ anymore. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me before?” 

You finally look at her face, and god help her, she’s trying. It feels too little too late, and at this point, there’s more tension in this small car than trust. You shake your head. 

“I don’t remember what it was.”


	36. Chapter 36

Michael holds the door for you as always, but he seems rather nervous this morning. He’s quiet as you buckle in and he allows his arm to cradle the back of your seat, turning to check behind him before pulling out. 

“Did you change your mind?” 

You shift your bag to the floor, the pressure of the strap being replaced with the seatbelt shortly after. “About what?” 

The boy successfully pulls back onto the main road, and exhales heavily. “About...being my girlfriend?” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head and reaching out to place a hand on the boy’s thigh. He stiffens, but relaxes a moment later. You give a gentle squeeze. “Are you going to ask me every five minutes if I’ve changed my mind? You said you were mine, yeah?” 

Saying the words out loud were a little scary, and for a moment, you wonder if he questioned you because he himself is reconsidering. His tongue moves across his lower lip as he makes a turn, and then under his breath, he breathes out a small “Yes.” 

Jesus Christ, he’s yours. Your boyfriend. You smile wide, watching the small crinkle in the corners of his eyes when he smiles at your response. “And I’m yours, Michael Mell.”

The boy seems flustered, shifting in his seat. “I...okay. Did you talk to your mom?” 

You suck in a breathe through your teeth. “Yeah, we fought.” 

“Why? About me?” 

“I didn’t even get a chance to talk about anything besides her findings, yknow, per usual. We fought because Jeremy’s squip gave off some massive interference and shocked her pretty bad. I don’t know if you got to talk to him more last night, but now my mom is going behind my dad’s back to find a way to get rid of the SQUIPS. I guess the kids she’s been seeing in Newark are having similar problems. I don’t know, I know it sounds shitty, but I don’t really care anymore. I care about Rich, and somehow I still care about Jeremy, but I just want this to be over.” 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble, taking your hand away from his thigh and slumping back into the seat. “It’s fine.”

“Well, did you at least get to finish your English project?” 

You groan, covering your face with your own hands. “Fuck. No. God damn, I’m so overwhelmed and I just-“ 

“Want me to do it for you?” Michael has put on his blinker and is pulling into the seven-eleven parking lot, his face screwed up in concentration as he pulls into a tight space. 

You pause for a moment, but dismiss the idea quickly. “No, I can work on it during gym. Unless Jeremy has another mental breakdown.” 

Michael throws the car into park and unbuckles his seat, turning to you and pulling on leg up on the seat. “Jeremy’s been my best friend since we were kids. I really want you guys to get along, this isn’t him. I’m, like, genuinely really sorry that your parents have you wrapped up in this.”

“I know, and Jeremy was fine before. I think...I’m just overwhelmed right now. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to rag on Jeremy.” 

“I know,” Michael says, and he pops his door open. “Slurpees?” 

“Slurpees,” you reply. 

——-

You got a small wave from Rich as you walked into school, through a sea of students. Jeremy wasn’t with him, but everything seemed pretty normal. 

You didn’t even go into the gym to take attendance, but opted to go straight to your usual spot on the bleachers, pulling out your English assignment and starting from scratch. 

By yourself, it was easy enough to think straight. Once the class approached the field and started doing their usual stretching, you couldn’t help but focus on the small Asian girl below. 

Christine didn’t seem to be any less smiley or dedicated to her warmup than usual, and you wonder if the talk with Jeremy went well. Being frustrated was something you could never blame the actress for, and you didn’t know all of what happened before you moved here. For Jeremy’s sake, you do hope it went well. 

Rich hasn’t texted you this morning, and no news is normally good news. Just in case, though, you’ve got a can of code red tucked away in your bag. Actually, you have two. Just in case Jeremy needs help getting in line. 

Speak of the devil, you see Michael with his arm around the taller boy. Jeremy’s hands are shoved deep into the front pocket of his dark blue hoodie as he kicks his feet against the dirt before him with every step. Instead of heading right to their usual spots, the boy’s feet off to the secret space under the bleachers. 

Understandable, Jeremy could probably use a pick me up. For how much your neighbor smokes, you do wonder where he gets his supply. Making a mental note to ask him later on, you ignore the blow of the coach’s whistle and try to focus on the subtext of the great gatsby. 

Homoerotic, or something, right? You pen out your essay, hoping you’ll at least get points for creativity and thinking outside the heteronormative box. Is that a thing? Surely, that must be a thing. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but right as you’re writing your conclusion, you hear someone clear their throat. Engrossed in your work, you hadn’t noticed that the two boys were suddenly shuffling down the bleacher you were currently sitting on. 

“Y/N?” Jeremy sniffles some, and when you look up, you realize that his eyes are a little puffy and red. Maybe just from smoking, but the way his voice cracks when he says your name makes you think otherwise. Michael sways a little as he walks, his mouth in a tight line as he looks at you hopefully. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m really bad with apologies,” the lanky boy starts off, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pocket once more. “But, I’m sorry. Your mom really helped me last night, and even though it seems like it worked out, I shouldn’t have said that to you...about...” he looks behind him, and Michael nods a little. 

“Oh,” you breathe out, realizing that of course Michael would have told him the news. Or maybe Rich did last night. You remember what Michael said earlier, and you know how important that friendship is to your boyfriend, so you push down all the ugly feelings you have. “It’s okay, I know it wasn’t you.” 

Jeremy’s lower lip trembles as he looks down to the field, a shaky breath passing through his teeth. “She said she’s done.” 

You follow his gaze, Christine is drinking from a water bottle on the field, talking to Brooke of all people. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” 

And you were. You don’t know the ins and outs, but no one deserves to hurt like this. He just nods, watching the girl that got away as he silently sits down beside you. Michael sits next to his best friend and worries his lower lip with his teeth, the three of you staying in place until the bell rings.


	37. Chapter 37

Throughout the next two periods, Chloe and Brooke whisper behind their hands. Their desks are directly behind yours, and you hear your name at least twice, followed by giggles. 

You don’t have to wonder for long, as you feel an arm hook into yours on your way to the cafeteria for lunch. 

“Y/N! I’ve been hearing /a lot/ about you!” 

You watch as Brooke somehow keeps her arm entangled with yours as she cranes her neck to take a sip of her seltzer. 

You look to your other side, and realize Chloe is there, smiling in a way that somehow does not seem friendly. 

“Really,” is the only response you can muster up, although it’s not a question at all. You’ve had a taste of the way these girls interact, and you have no interest. 

“Yeah,” Chloe says as she flips her hair over her shoulder, pulling the strap of her purse up a little higher. Who brings a purse to school? Where are her notebooks? “Jenna said she saw you holding hands with Rich Gornaski at the mall.” 

You laugh, dry and hearty as you try to unhook your arm from the smaller blonde at your left side. It proves no use, her skinny arm clenching yours tight against her side as she giggles, clearly not understanding your reason for laughter. 

“And, like, don’t worry. We’re not going to say anything to anyone else, but-“ 

“But,” Chloe interrupts, moving from your side to stand directly in front of you. 

Students seem to part easily around her, not a single shoulder bump as you’re stuck in the middle of the hallway. “I asked Christine Canigula and she seemed to think you might be shacking up with someone else.” 

Your face falls a bit, your lips parting in surprise. Christine was talking about you? This morning, seeing her going back and forth with Brooke on the field, you had wondered what the topic of conversation might have been. 

But, Christine didn’t seem to you like the type to play into any of this, even if prompted. Could you have been wrong? You look to Brooke, whose eyes seem to shine with pride. God, is this what teenage girls do for fun? 

“I’m not ‘shacking up’ with /anyone/,” you answer, more defensively than you had intended to. “Rich and I are friends, and I don’t know what Christine said to you, but-“ 

Again, Chloe interjects, but she’s not even looking at you, a sinister smirk on her pink-glossed lips. “I told you! Pay up.” 

Your neck twinges in pain at how quickly you look between the two girls, your brows furrowed in confusion. They made a bet on your love life? What could possibly be so interesting about you? 

Brooke rolls her eyes, finally snaking her arm out through yours, her pink plastic straw scraping against your forearm. Gross. “Fine. Lunch is on me. I don’t know why I even agreed, I knew Mell was gay. Juliet just seemed so sure...” 

Still blocked by the blonde queen bee in front of you, you have no idea what to say. Oh, no. The bet was on if you were dating Michael or not. Why would Christine even say anything? 

Had Jeremy told her, or had she just guessed? Sure, Jeremy and Rich know, but would Michael want everyone else to know? 

Like a deer in the headlights, you just stare at the popular girl before you. It’s not their business, but part of you wants to confirm that you are dating Michael, for yourself and for his benefit. Although, it shouldn’t matter.

Why do they even care what his preference is? These girls’ lives can’t possibly be so boring as to care what the ‘losers’ of the school are up to. 

“Too bad,” Brooke says, and she sounds somewhat genuine, though it’s hard to tell through her Paris Hilton impression of a voice. “You guys would be trés cute together.” 

Chloe frowns, crossing her arms. “Brooke!” 

“Sorry,” the smaller girl apologizes quickly and heads forward toward the cafeteria, though Chloe stays behind for a moment. 

“You know, Y/N, you can say whatever you want about you and Rich just being ‘friends’, but he used to be one of us. We all know how he operates. And,” the girl steps closer to you, the scent of artificial vanilla assaulting your senses. 

“I think it’s funny that you’re here for two minutes and all of a sudden, Jeremy and Christine and over just like that.” 

Long stiletto nails click together as the girl snaps, punctuating her sentence as students continue to pass by you on either side. The implication burns a rage inside of you, and nausea sets in that far outweighs the effect of the greasy fast food you’d had last night. 

“I’m just saying, if you keep spending all of your time with the guys here, you’re going to get quite the reputation. I would just /hate/ if someone as nice as you was labeled a slut. Not by me, of course, but some girls aren’t as nice as Brooke and I. It’s just weird that you don’t have any friends that are girls.” 

“Christine and I are friends,” you say slowly, swallowing after the words are out. There’s something behind Chloe’s eyes that you can’t read, and she shrugs her shoulders, tilting her head a little as she sighs dramatically. 

“I don’t know, she didn’t seem to be your biggest fan this morning, from what Brooke told me...I wonder why that is. Anyway, I have a free lunch waiting for me, toodles!” 

“So do I,” you mumble to yourself, unable to move. Planted in the middle of the hallway, you immediately feel a powerful slam against your shoulder as a freshman passes by. Just like that, you’re reminded how painful highschool can be. Literally and figuratively. What did you do to Christine? How does Rich ‘operate’? And, who the fuck says ‘toodles’?


	38. Chapter 38

Lunch has already started, and you don’t feel like waiting in line for greasy cafeteria pizza. Not to mention, you don’t have much of an appetite after your conversation with Chloe. 

Jeremy has his head down on his folded arms, his body relaxed as if he’s possibly napping. Rich is talking at Michael, who is using his chopsticks to play the drums on the edge of the table. 

You’re not sure from the distance of the cafeteria door, but you hope it’s not the end he’s been using to pick at his tray of sushi in front of him. 

Rich is bouncing in his seat, talking with his hands as you approach the table. Luckily, Christine is nowhere to be found. 

“No, dude, and then at twenty minutes, you can totally see side-boob.” 

“Uh-huh,” Michael replies in monotone as you sit across the table from him, a frown on your face. 

Rich turns in his seat, facing you with a much more serious expression on his face than they had a moment ago. “Hey, you good?” 

You shake your head, and Jeremy picks his own up from the table, his eyes a little glazed over as he runs a hand through his hair. 

Michael stops tapping his chopsticks, his hands frozen as he quirks an eyebrow. “Your parents..?” 

“No, uh...” you turn around, making eye contact with Chloe as she whispers something behind her hand to Jenna, both of the girls laughing immediately. 

You turn back to the boy’s in front of you, the girls’ states burning into your back. “Chloe said I’m getting a reputation as a slut.” 

“What? Why?” Rich’s eyes narrow as he looks over your shoulder, to where his old group of friends sit. 

“Apparently they ‘know how you operate’ and Jenna saw us holding hands at the mall. And then Christine told Brooke that I’m ‘shacking up’ with Michael.” 

“Technically-“ Michael starts, and you kick at his leg under the table, causing a short laugh from the boy.

“I didn’t even know how to answer,” you say, frustrated as you throw your hands up. “They made a bet about it.” 

“About Rich or me?” 

“If you were gay or not,” you answer simply, and you’re almost expecting the boy to have a bigger reaction. He simply shrugs. You wish desperately that you could not care the way he does. 

Jeremy pipes up, his voice weak. “Christine wouldn’t say that.” 

“I saw her talking to Brooke this morning,” you’re treading lightly as you explain, not wanting to argue with the boy in this fragile state. “Where else would she have gotten that?” 

“Chloe is evil,” Rich interjects. “The only way I “operated” was finger banging her in the bathroom and then not calling her, if that’s what she’s referring to. Not proud of it, but it was before her and Jake were together. That girl is bananas, she’ll say anything to get under your skin. Don’t even worry about it.” 

“Gross,” Michael says, and then all of a sudden, he’s looking at you with big eyes, almost a worried expression on his face. “Not because she’s a girl...”

You laugh just a bit, shaking your head adamantly. You already know by now that Michael is at the very least bisexual, and you absolutely thought the same way when you met him. 

“Rich is gross, I get it.” 

“Some friends you are.” The tattooed boy grumbles some, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the table now, putting on quite the act of being offended. 

Jeremy makes a sound that almost sounds like a whine, holding his cheeks in his hands. “Can you guys please stop reminding me that I am utterly alone and will never know the touch of a woman again.” 

“Unless Y/N starts living up to her reputation,” Rich mumbles, and you kick at his shin with a glare. 

Michael also swats at the boy’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Dude.” 

You have to admit, it’s kind of nice to know he would defend your honor. Rich frowns, truly looking remorseful as he breathes out a ‘sorry’ and drops his arms. 

Jeremy reaches an arm out, gently lying his hand on your forearm. “Chloe really is manipulative. She can twist words around like you wouldn’t believe, I really don’t think Christine would say anything bad about you.” 

You make a frustrated noise, pulling your messenger bag closer to your chest with your free hand. You don’t make a move to pull away from Jeremy’s hand, though it feels clammy against your skin and nowhere near as comforting as when Michael touches you. 

“Yeah, except it was implied that Christine said I was the reason you guys broke up. Which, I know is true, but not for the reason Chloe thinks. All I’ve done since I’ve moved here is make everything worse.” You look to the side, watching as some kid at the table next to you dabs the grease off of his pizza slice with a napkin. Ew. 

You know that to some degree you’ve helped Rich...maybe. And, things with Michael are mostly alright, but Jeremy’s been crying most of the day. Rich is still getting shocks from his squip, and people are making bets on Michael’s love life. 

“Y/N,” Jeremy’s voice comes out slow as he says your name, squeezing his fingers a little tighter on your skin. “No one thinks that.” 

White headphones around his neck still, your boyfriend seems to be studying your face, a slight frown on his lips. He’s now got both chopsticks wedged between his last few rolls of sushi and the black plastic supermarket tray it came in. 

Avoiding eye contact with any of the boys, you shrug some and pull your arm away from Jeremy’s touch. Rich sighs, adjusting his tie-dye headband as he speaks. “You’ve made my life better, actually.” 

Michael’s voice is soft when he chimes in with a quiet: “Mine, too.” 

Maybe they’re right, but all of the doubt is so overwhelming. All of the rumors and whispers and confrontation is too much for one day. 

“Hey, how much was the bet for?” Michael rolls his eyes at Rich’s question, but you finally look up and meet the small boy’s eyes when you answer. 

“Brooke bought Chloe’s pizza,” you say with a shrug. 

“Knowing my sexuality is only worth two dollars and fifty cents? That’s bogus.” Michael’s half-smiling, and you wonder again how anyone can be so carefree about these kinds of things. 

As much as you want to move on and go about normal conversation, a thought is still eating at you. Keeping your attention on Rich, you speak again, almost sounding angry, but not quite. “Didn’t you say that I would thank you for you holding my hand at the mall? I’m pretty sure that was bad foresight on Kermit’s part.”

Jeremy looks over to the shorter boy, a little confused, but then Jeremy and Michael are making eye contact and they both look like they want to say something. Jeremy motions with his hand, as if telling the boy in the red hoodie to proceed. 

“Actually,” Michael says slowly, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table as he talks. Your attention is pulled away from your current glare at the shorter boy, your face softening when you see Michael’s earnest expression. “That was when I realized I was jealous of the idea of you with anyone else, so...you /should/ probably thank him.” 

“Oh,” is all you can say back, and you’re not positive, but it feels like your eyes are wider than they were a minute ago. 

Rich gives a small smile, almost looking sad, and he offers a small “You’re welcome,” to a thank you you never offered. 

You’re about to say the words, when he continues. “Before you guys go making a bunch of plans-Y/N, I have my house to myself tonight. My dad’s gone for a few days, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come over? I have mad bus passes left.” 

It’s been a hot minute since you and the shorter boy have had any alone time, and it would be nice to vent and maybe bounce some ideas off of him. 

Besides, you’ve never seen Rich’s house and you can’t deny that you’re curious what that might look like. “Oh, hell yeah. I absolutely don’t want to be home right now anyway.” You figure you can explain later, rather than take away from the lunchtime conversation anymore. 

Jeremy seems to get excited at this, grabbing Michael’s arm now. “Which means we can have bro time.” 

“Bro time is now code for ‘cry about Christine’ time, but yeah, buddy. You can totally come over.” Michael’s voice is somewhat playful as he pays Jeremy on the back. 

Jeremy just nods, looking back down to the table and sighing. God, is this Jeremy was like before Christine? Just wallowing in self pity constantly? 

Your boyfriend picks his chopsticks back up in his left hand, picking up a piece of seaweed-wrapped rice and turning back to Rich. “So what was the side-boob movie called again?”


	39. Chapter 39

It might sound dramatic, but dread is the only word that can be used to describe the feeling in your stomach as you sit through your last few periods of the day. 

It’s not that you don’t trust Christine, you just don’t know her the way that everyone else in your small friend group does. Walking into shop felt kind of like walking into a distant relative’s out, familiar but not entirely comfortable. 

Today, you were to be working with the saw blades, cutting into your projects-which, by the way, you still weren’t entirely sure what you were even making. Following Christine’s lead seemed to be the best bet, and you silently hope that you can continue it. 

Honestly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. But Christine’s smiling face greeting you as you enter the classroom was not it. She already has both of your projects in each of her hands and goggles on her face. 

You sit down hesitantly beside her, and her smile falters just a bit. 

“Hey,” the small girl says.

There’s not much you can infer from such a small word, but somehow, it angers you. Just a simple ‘hey’? So casual, knowing damn well that she opened her mouth to the very people she knows not to give information to. 

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by the instructor, giving an in-depth tutorial on the safety of the table saws. Some teenage boys in the class keep goofing off, and you have to sit for an excruciatingly long lecture about the seriousness of heavy machinery. 

The class does settle down, though, and everyone heads to the workstation in the back of the classroom. With your project in hand, you line up with the other students. 

You’re ready to make your move, maybe open the conversation with some questions about Christine’s own relationship-or lack thereof. But, you realize the sound of the saw gives no room. 

Painful, is probably the word you would use to describe shop class. Not because anyone gets hurt on the saw, or because you get dust in your eye, or a splinter under your skin. 

No, shop class is incredibly painful because you have to go the entire period four feet away from a girl that just yesterday, you considered your friend. But now, you have no idea. It’s hard to focus when it’s your turn at the saw, your fingers trembling as you guide your slab of wood against the blade. 

Chloe and Brooke and Christine are all watching you, and the instructor’s guided words don’t really help your nerves. You end up cutting a corner you didn’t mean to, and like a discouraged dog, you retreat back to your seat, staring at your fucked up project. 

Luckily, forty five minutes in hell goes by pretty quickly. At the end of the period, Christine is throwing her backpack back over each shoulder when you get up the nerve to finally say something. 

“Can we talk?” 

The girl purses her lips, as though she’s considering rejecting the offer. With a dramatic sigh, she nods and turns back to you. The afternoon announcements cut you off again as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, standing and leaning against the edge of the table. 

Once you are both fully informed about the thanksgiving can drive and the auditions for the talent show, you’re finally able to begin. Your classmates rush past you, seemingly unaware of the ‘private’ conversation you’re engaging in as the eager shoulders of teenagers trying to get to their buses quickly bump against your own tense shoulders. 

“I saw you and Brooke this morning, and then she found me on the way to lunch and-“ 

“Woah, woah. I wasn’t talking to Brooke so much as being interrogated by her,” Christine scoffs, and then laughs a little. She shakes her head, her jet-black hair falling in her face some as she clutches a notebook to her chest. “Before you tell me what she said to you, let me tell you what she said to /me/.” 

You nod, and follow the small girl’s lead as she lines up with everyone else heading out the door of the classroom. You don’t see Brooke or Chloe anywhere, craning your neck to make sure this was a ‘safe’ topic. 

“Brooke came up to me and asked me if I was ‘that girl who was dating Jeremy’. Y/N, I think we’ve worked on, like, four school projects together and she’s called my name down the hall before. I don’t know what’s wrong with popular people, but I guess they don’t have very good memories. Anyway, I said no, we broke up. She was like-“ 

Christine adds some nasal quality to her voice, raising the pitch and drawing every word out. “Oooooh no, that is tréeeeeeees sad! What about his friend Michael?” 

She returns to her normal tone, rolling her eyes as she steps up onto one of the platforms stairs leading out of the workshop. “And I’m like ‘what about him’, and she asked if I knew the girl he went to the dance with. I said yeah, and repeated your name, and she asked if you guys were dating. I think...I’m sorry, this is definitely where I messed up. I was so in my head about everything, I shrugged and told her I didn’t know but that I think you guys like each other. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I don’t know if she made fun of you or something, but-“ 

And just like that, you’re laughing. You’re laughing at the idea that you thought Christine would sell you out. You’re laughing at the idea that Christine thinks she messed up somewhere here, and you’re laughing in relief that you still have a female friend at this school. “No, she didn’t.” 

Christine nods, sighing in relief dramatically and then laughing afterwards. The small girl has this very interesting way of laughing, straight from her belly, loud and long with a lot of breath. She recoils some, like the laugh took something out of her. “Oh, man. I’m so glad. And, look, you’re my only girl friend here. I really don’t want us to stop being friendly, but about Jeremy-“ 

“Who?” You offer a smile, nudging her shoulder with your own as you exit the classroom. 

“Thank you,” is all she says back. You’re still looking at the small girl when you feel an arm suddenly come around your shoulders, causing you to flinch and jump a little. 

You look to your left, and as you catch a waft if marijuana, you realize who is holding you. “Hey, Chris.” 

Christine looks down, reaching up to push her hair behind her ear as she offers a small. “Hey.” 

“How are you doing?” Michael is walking with both of you, keeping an even pace as he keeps a strong arm around your shoulders. Rich’s locker happens to be at the end of the hall, and you weren’t expecting to see your boyfriend again today, so this is a very welcome surprise. 

“I’m okay.” As much as you think that you wouldn’t be if the roles were reversed, Christine’s voice gives no indication that she’s being anything but truthful. “I just can’t do this every couple of months, yknow? I have finals and college to think about and I can’t take care of someone right now. I’m glad he has you guys.” 

Michael doesn’t say anything else, his headphones around his neck playing some kind of dance music you’ve never heard before. 

“Speaking of /you/ guys,” she sing-songs on the you, motioning with her hand between your torsos as she walks alongside. “May I ask if you...?” 

“Yeah, turns out I’m not /completely/ gay,” Michael flourishes his words with a laugh. 

“Oh, I love when my friends are in love!” Christine adds a skip to her step now, giving a small wave as she turns down the hall. 

Michael stops walking, having reached the column of lockers where Rich’s lives. He takes in a big breath and takes his arm away from you, leaning against the aluminum closets and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Are you still mad at her?” 

You adjust the strap on your bag, desperately needing somewhere to put your hands as you wait for the small tattooed boy to appear. Thinking over Christine’s words, you realize it wouldn’t be hard to fall in love with Michael. 

In fact, just looking at him always seems to be kind of hard-in a really exciting way. He’s handsome and charming and sweet and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his glasses fall on his nose when he parts his lips in surprise, the way his voice goes up and down with enthusiasm...it’s all so much. 

Sometimes, you’re very aware of how strongly you feel for the boy and it feels intimidating. But could he ever feel that way about? It’s crazy to be thinking like this so early on...

It takes a minute for you to catch your breath and respond, shrugging a little. “Chloe, maybe, but not Christine. I don’t get why guys and girls can’t just be friends. Even if Rich /is/ a slut.” 

“/Was/,” you hear a familiar voice yell, the short boy jogging up to you and your boyfriend, hastily screwing the dial of the lock on his locker. 

“Yeah, well, I promise you it’s even more frustrating when guys and guys can’t just be friends.” Bitter is the last word you would use to describe Michael, but his voice is dripping with an anger that’s unfamiliar to you in regard to the boy. You frown some, watching Michael watch Rich. 

“It’s because of the dandelion thing, dude. You can’t live that kinda stuff down.” 

You raise an eyebrow, glancing between the back of Rich’s head and Michael’s surprised face. 

Higher than normal and full of offense, your boyfriend’s voice cuts through the hall. “Fuck you, I was ten years old!”

Rich quickly scribbles a bus pass, shoving it your way before slamming his locker shut, still no backpack or books anywhere on him. With a heavily tattooed hand, he motions for both you and Michael to follow. You’re almost waiting for a protest, but the taller boy pushes off the locker and obliges, stopping for only a moment to hold out his hand to you. 

With a quick-beating heart, you allow both of your hands to take Michael’s offer, lacing your fingers with his and holding your joined hands with your other one. There’s a slight skip in your step, a small smile on your lips as you allow yourself to be led by your best friend and boyfriend through the school hallway. 

“What’s ‘the dandelion thing’?” You’re sure that if something happened almost ten years ago, there’s no way it could be bad enough to give him some sort of a reputation. What could he have done? Given dandelions to a boy once? 

Michael groans, squeezing your hand. “Please don’t make me tell you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to, sweetheart.” Michael seems to fluster at the pet name, even though you’re using it playfully. “Rich will tell me later.” 

The smaller boy turns around, walking backwards with absolutely zero fear as he nods. “I’ll tell her everything,” he threatens with a smirk. 

Rich manages to not bump into a single person as he walks backwards, and you wonder if the SQUIP is helping him with that. 

“Fine.” Michael’s shoulders heave some as he looks at you one last time, desperation in his eyes as he pouts. “I’ll tell you the dandelion story.”


	40. Chapter 40

“Okay, so, Jeremy and I have been friends since we were five years old, yknow? And so, when he’s bummed out, I get hella bummed out. Anyway, when I was ten, there was a parent teacher meeting. At the parent teacher meeting, Mr. Blake, this super pervy assistant principal started asking my moms really-eh, inappropriate questions. Chesa was so upset and I didn’t really understand why. So, when we got home, my moms say me down and explained how hard being in love for them really was. They told me I can’t be scared to love whoever I love, and if I do love someone, I need to fight for it and for them. It was a long talk with a lot of ethics involved, so I won’t bore you.” 

“I /would/ like to hear that someday,” you interject, raising your intertwined hands and kissing the back of his. Michael stumbles a little as he walks, staring at you like you have seventeen heads. You pay it no mind, following Rich, who has turned around and is still leading you to his bus.

You know Michael is driving home with Jeremy, and you don’t mind being escorted by your boyfriend, so you don’t argue that Michael is still walking with you. 

“I-okay, yeah. I...so, anyway...” the boy clears his throat, using his free hand to pull out his phone and pause his music. “So, I’m a kid, yknow. And love is just love to me, we didn’t get very deep into romantic love versus familial during the talk. And the next day at school, Jeremy was super bummed out. This kid’s favorite color is yellow, cuz it’s happy. Well- now I think it’s green, because that’s Christine’s favorite color. But, anyway, kid was really into yellow. He was super bummed out because this girl pushed him when he asked her to play tetherball-“ 

“I’m seeing a pattern in Jeremy’s sorrows.” 

Michael snorts, laughing in a way that could almost be described as a giggle. “So, I see some dandelions, and I picked one. I went over to him and tied a ring around his finger, so that the little yellow bud was like the gem. And I told him that if no one else would marry him, I would.” 

Your eyes widen a little, realizing that yeah, you can’t really come back from that one. Although, you can see where Michael was coming from. A dandelion ring, how sweet. You almost swoon, but instead, you give Michael’s hand a gentle squeeze, sighing to yourself. 

“Needless to say,” Michael licks his lips, his steps coming to a stop as Rich climbs onto his bus. 

“It didn’t go over well with our classmates. That was when I got the label, which sucked because I didn’t even start to question or think about my sexuality until middle school. My parents just never made it a big deal, so I had a lot of time at home to mentally explore that stuff. At school, though....” 

He trails off, taking his hand away from yours and looking to the side. You frown some, wondering how Michael has never really had a relationship before. Aside from Rich, had no one else really ever fallen for this boy? 

“Jeremy didn’t get the same label?” 

Michael sucks in a breath through his teeth, leaning back on his heels as he reached one hand up to hold the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “Uh, no. He ripped the dandelion off and told me he would never marry me, we weren’t friends for like two weeks after that.” 

“Your first breakup?” With a playful pout, you take a step toward the boy who was standing in front of you, lying one hand on his chest and your other on his shoulder. 

“It hurt,” Michael says quietly, his eyes seeming to search yours as he chews on his lower lip. 

You know that your boyfriend has anxiety problems, but you almost feel a sense of rejection every time you get close to him and he seems to tense up like this. The more optimistic corners of your mind want to believe it’s because he’s just as infatuated with you, but you know that can’t possibly be true. 

You tilt your head a little, reaching your hand from the red hoodie’s shoulder up to cup Michael’s cheek. He’s holding his breath as he leans into your touch. Honestly, for a moment, you forget where you are. You forget that you have someone waiting on you, you forget that your classmates are all around, all you know is that you want Michael to smile. 

“You didn’t deserve that. The rejection, or the assumptions.” 

The boy closes his eyes, letting out the breath he was holding through his nose. “Yeah, I know. Still sucks.” 

You let your thumb run over his cheek gently, before pulling your hand back and opting to slide your arms around Michael’s waist, hugging him close as your cheek presses against his chest. It takes a moment before you feel arms encircle your shoulders, returning the embrace. 

Pulling back, you hover for just a moment, looking up into brown eyes. “No dandelion rings tonight, okay? I don’t care how sad Jeremy gets.” 

There it is. The crack of the smile that blows you away. “Fine,” he says with a small laugh, glancing back at Rich’s bus. “But then you have to make me a deal, too.” 

You pull away from your boyfriend, although you wish you could stay in his arms as long as he’d allow. “Hm?” 

You take a few steps toward the school bus’s platformed steps, careful not to bump into the glass door that’s extended out onto the sidewalk. “No finger banging in the bathroom,” Michael says with the absolutely biggest smirk. 

You narrow your eyes and flip him off, which gets another laugh in response. You turn on your heel, taking a few steps up into the bus. It only takes a moment of visual searching before you find Rich, sitting alone toward the back of the bus. 

Shuffling down the narrow bus aisle, you avoid all eye contact, although it seems that everyone is watching you. Sliding into the seat with your friend, Rich’s voice is calm when he speaks. “You’re good together, you know that?” 

“Me and Michael?” 

“Yeah,” Rich shrugs a little, bumping his knee against yours as he slouches in the seat. “If it can’t be me, I’m glad it’s you. Really.” 

“You’ll find someone you’re good with, you know.” You lay your hand on his thigh, and he leans his head back against the bus seat. 

“I hope.”


	41. Chapter 41

You’re not entirely sure why you thought Rich’s bus would be full of kids from the “wrong side of the tracks”, but there’s nothing abnormal about the bus ride at all. 

Rich bounces his leg, occasionally reaching up to rub at the base of his neck, but otherwise stays pretty quiet. Again, you’re not sure what you thought was in store, but Rich’s house is pretty normal. Shuffling off the bus, you’re dropped almost immediately at his doorstep. 

A single-story pink house, with some missing siding and green roofing. Rich is silent as he leads his way up to the door, motioning toward the ‘BEWARE OF DOG’ sign. 

“We don’t actually have one, I think dad said once it keeps out the ‘hooligans’ or something.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” you jest, following Rich into the small house. It’s dimly lit, a yellow glow pouring into the living room, spilling out from the kitchen. 

There’s the harsh smell of cigarette smoke and liquor, empty beer bottles littering the floor around an arm chair. 

“That’s dad’s,” Rich offers in a huff, stepping over cans and bottles to turn off the humming tv, static filling the screen and offering a solemn blue glow in a halo around the tv stand. 

Letting out a whistle, you look around the room. God, if this is what you had to come home to, you’d also always be trying to escape. Your friend tosses his backpack down beside the tv, entering the kitchen and calling from the other room. 

“You want a water or anything?!”

It takes a full three seconds after shaking your head before you realize that he can’t see you, and call back a steady “I’m good!” 

Rich turns back around the corner, a bottle of water in hand as he heads down a narrow hallway. “I gotta wash this stuff off, then we can go to my room.” 

You pause for a moment. Wash /what/ off? 

Rich swings open one of the doors in the hallway, and there’s some clattering as you watch fluorescent light pour into the hallway. Carefully, almost as not to disturb the natural order, you follow to where the bathroom door is cracked.

Shoulders hunched, Rich flips on one of the faucet handles and immediately starts to scrub around his left eye, making an almost pained noise. “I don’t know how Chloe deals with this every day.” 

Watching Rich’s reflection in the mirror, you can see bits of red start to come through on his cheek, as well as around his entire eye. 

Now, you’d noticed before that the boy seemed to wear some cover up, but you just always thought it was a bad acne flare-up, or something. 

As more scarred skin becomes apparent, you realize exactly what you’re watching. Rich Gornaski is washing away the thick layer of makeup he applies every morning to avoid anyone seeing or making comments on his burn scars. 

You can’t help but let your mouth fall open in surprise, raising one hand to cover your heart, feeling like such a bad friend for never putting it together. The boy gets the day’s makeup off of his face successfully, and then stares at his own reflection. 

His eyes narrow in scrutiny, inked fingers rising to touch the raised red marks on his cheek. He sighs heavily, shoving his hand forward and turning the faucet off with his palm. 

The harsh sound of rusted metal creaking makes you jump a bit, a chill going up your spine when you see the anger in the boy’s eyes. For a split second, you wonder if being alone with him is the best idea.

What a terrible thought, and again, what a terrible friend. You look back to the chair, and you imagine how insufferable Rich’s life must be.

All you can do right now is be here with him, be here for him. Hesitantly, you lean against the frame of the bathroom door and find that your voice is much shakier than you intend it to be. 

“Rich?” 

“I’m fine,” he answers back, gritting his teeth, although you didn’t technically ask any questions. 

It’s almost as though Rich is locked into a staring game with himself, his body rigid as he keeps his palms flat against his bathroom sink. For a moment, you feel incredibly guilty. 

There’s guilt in the memories of joking about him in Michael’s basement...god, of taking Michael from him. Not that your neighbor belonged to anyone, but the situation can’t be easy. 

There’s guilt in your memories of strolling along the mall, keeping a side eye on Rich at all times. There’s an immense amount of guilt in the memory of the anger you felt in your chest the first time you saw Rich on your couch. 

“I never realized,” you say quietly, taking a small step forward, into the bathroom, and lying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Well aware that this might not be the best move, you brace for a drastic reaction. Instead, the tattooed boy’s shoulders relax some and his gaze upon himself softens, his lower lip trembling. 

Rich still hasn’t broken eye contact with the mirrored version of himself, but he speaks very slowly when he responds to you. 

“That’s why I covered my left arm in tattoos. I know you’re just being nice. My side is fucked up, too. When I started the fire...” 

He swallows hard, almost like he’s taking in the information all over again. 

“It spread quickly. I got really fucked up for, like, a year after. It’s hard to move past something when you’re wearing the shame of it on your literal face 24/7.” 

Since the boy isn’t seeming to mind your touch, you allow your hand to rub his back slowly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“You’re strong, Rich.” 

A harsh, biting laugh escapes his throat, his adam’s apple bouncing with the force of it. 

“Not strong enough to deal with the SQUIP on my own. It’s been two fucking years and I’m still just as helpless. You know, Jake broke both of his legs jumping out of his window to escape the fire. He was my /best friend/. I’m...i’m...”

You shake your head, taking a step closer and leaning your head on the boy’s shoulder. 

“You’re Rich Gornaski, the artist, the guitar player...and /my/ best friend. C’mon, step away. I’m here.”

He swallows hard, his stare moving down to his hands that are clutching the bathroom counter now. It takes another minute of silence before he finally nods, pushing away and breaking from your embrace. Shuffling past you, he leads you both down the hallway and into the open door of his room.


	42. Chapter 42

Entering Rich’s room, the first thing you notice is ashtrays everywhere. Full to the brim with snubbed out cigarette butts. There’s a small stereo, with an aux cord hanging out of the input spot. 

The next thing you notice is all of the band posters on the wall. Blink-182, Bowling for Soup, Green Day, and a few bands you’ve never heard of. 

But the most interesting thing, aside from his half-made bed that’s missing a comforter, just a few fleece blankets thrown on top of the fitted sheet, is his desk. 

Rich has a desk pressed flush against his off-white wall, literally hundreds of sketches covering the top. Completely forgetting that he’s in the room, settling on his back on his own bed, you pick up a few loose pieces of art. 

They’re incredible, some in the style of comic books, some much more realistic portraits of your classmates. Standing in the middle of the private space, you can almost imagine what a ‘normal’ night might look like for your friend. 

Coming home to a brooding father, emptying cans at an alarming rate while he watches something on the tv. No questions about how Rich’s day was. 

A hard stare in the mirror while he washes away the pain of the day, followed by a lonely night of music, cigarettes, and pouring his heart onto a page. 

You’re engrossed in the shading on a portrait of Christine, complete with stray strands of her raven hair flowing into her eyes. 

“I know, it’s super embarrassing. I’d rather you didn’t actually look at them.” 

With the sketch still in your hand, you turn to face the boy, shaking your head with vigor. 

“Rich, these are incredible. Have you considered submitting a portfolio anywhere?” 

He purses his lips, crossing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. 

“SQUIP says that’s a bad idea.” 

“And Kermit’s never been wrong before, huh?” 

There’s no response, but judging from the way the boy’s eyelids close and his head leans back against his own forearms, you know your message was received. 

“You mean like to an art school?” 

“Or just a regular college with a good art program. You know, Michael and I are applying to some schools in New York...”

“Man, I’d love to live in the city.” Something casts over his eyes, and it almost looks like hope. A slight shine, a glimmer of something real. 

“Well, what were your plans going to be otherwise?” 

You set the drawing down carefully, making sure not to overlap it with any other in progress or completed pieces that are currently living on the desk. 

“I don’t know. I guess I fantasize sometimes about just...moving away. Not even college always, when I think about it. Maybe start a band? But, I just want to get the fuck out of jersey and never have to see or hear from my dad ever again.” 

“So do it. Rich, you really don’t give yourself enough credit. This...might be a bad time, but let me ask you something.” 

You set your own bag down on his bedroom floor and make your way to his bed, sitting on the edge and clasping your hands in front of you. Michael’s bed is much more plush than this twin sized mattress, but you’re not complaining. 

“I was talking to mom about finding a way to remove the SQUIP.” 

He scoffs, sitting up quickly, his hands at his sides. “Like surgery?!”

The only answer you can give is a shrug of your shoulders, realizing that you’re actually unsure of any other option to entirely eradicate the SQUIP from the human body. 

“She’s doing this behind my dad’s back and talking to doctors, so, yeah, maybe surgery. Or, maybe there’s a chemical or something that can dissolve the device. I don’t know, but doesn’t a week in the hospital in recovery sound better than a lifetime of trying to control this thing with cans of sugary soda?” 

Rich runs a tattooed hand over his face, and for the first time, you realize that the skin along the back of his hand and going up his forearm is indeed textured very differently. Black ink stipples across the scarred skin, masking it to anyone who is just glancing. 

Again, you feel like a bad friend for never noticing. But, pleasantly surprised that you actually hadn’t heard anyone else mention it to you. It’s good to know that above all else, everyone at school dislikes everyone else’s personalities, not their looks. 

There’s silver linings in everything, right? 

“I don’t know.” Rich doesn’t sound opposed to the idea as he flexes his fingers open and shut a few times. “Part of me wants to hold onto the idea that I could be cool if I could just control it.”

“Richard Gornaski.” 

You know that the small tattooed boy who is doing everything to avoid eye contact with you hates his full name, but in this moment, it’s warranted. Troubled past or not, the boy sitting in front of you, the Rich /you/ know is your friend. And, even if he weren’t, no one deserves to feel so low. 

He perks his head up some, giving you a side eye as you continue. 

“You /are/ cool. This-“ you gesture with your hand to his window, that is covered only by some broken blinds. “High school shit? This isn’t forever. Your asshole dad? He doesn’t /have/ to be your only family. You can have a chosen family. I can be your chosen family, Michael can be your family. Your new friends in college will be your family. You’ll have friendsgivings with glasses of wine and good food and inside jokes. You’ll have days where you wake up and choose not to put on thirteen pounds of cover-up to get through the day. I’ll be a phone call away. You’ll have a kick ass boyfriend or girlfriend that loves you exactly the way you are, and you won’t ever hear Kermit again. Doesn’t /that/ sound like something worth trying?” 

His lower lip quivers again, and for a moment, you think the boy might cry. Rich sniffles it back though, shrugging some. 

“You’re assuming anyone would take the chance to get to know me.” 

You cross your arms, pulling a leg up into the bed so you can face the tattooed boy a little better.

“You’re assuming that people wouldn’t.” 

He nods solemnly, staring down at his inked knuckles before lightly punching his own knee. 

“Okay. If your mom can figure something out, I’d be open to it. But...” 

He sighs heavily, scooting himself up on the bed and pulling his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs, just under his knees. 

“Until then, just stick it out with me, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you say back with a smile. 

————-

With the state of the living room, you’re a little surprised to find how well upkept the kitchen is. You’ve hopped onto the kitchen counter, swinging your legs as you watch Rich intently read the back of a box of Kraft Mac and cheese. 

“It’s just milk and butter, right? Get to it!” 

The boy has a cigarette in his other hand, holding it to his mouth as his eyes scan over each paragraph of direction. 

“Shhh,” as he shushes you, smoke pours from his lips, a small smile on the corners of his mouth. “There’s a balance, Y/N. I gotta get it just right.” 

You roll your eyes, looking over to a calendar on the wall that hasn’t been touched since June of 2012, apparently. You decide it’s best not to ask, waving the smoke from in front of your face. 

Rich clicks the dial on the stove, thankfully it’s an electric top, so no fire is needed. He goes to the fridge, pulling out all of the ingredients he needs. 

“How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?” 

Rich clicks his tongue, balancing a half gallon of milk and a stick of butter in one arm as he holds his cigarette away from him, setting everything on the counter by the stove. 

“Oh, man. Like a pack, at least.” 

“How many is in a pack?” 

Rich sets a pan on top of the stove, ripping open the macaroni box with his teeth and pouring the contents in. He picks up the cheese powder packet from the center of the noodle pile in the pan, setting it beside the milk. 

“Twenty.” 

“Jesus.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s more of a habit. I also think my dad takes me more seriously with a cigarette in my hand. It’s not like it’s doing any real damage to my lungs, anyway.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh. The SQUIP filters it.” 

“I’m sorry, how is that medically possible?” 

You cock your head some, watching as Rich meticulously measures out both the butter and milk, throwing it all in the pan and tossing a lid on top. All with a cigarette still in his hand. You have to admit, it’s impressive. 

“I have no idea. Harder drugs, not so much. But cigarettes, weed, some pills...the squip just bypasses it in the system so it never hits.” 

“Jeremy smokes with Michael all the time, though.” 

“You don’t have to be a complete slave to the thing, I can tell it to fuck off. Or to let me enjoy some Mary Jane. The one thing it can’t compete with is alcohol. And code red, obviously.”

“Hm. I wonder if that was intention in design or just an error.” 

“Man, if I ever find out who invented this shit, I’ll kick their ass. I know Sony had some rights, but I’m talking about the dude at the drawing table who pitched it. I’ll roundhouse kick him so hard his head will spin.”

“Calm down, karate kid.” 

Rich gives a laugh at this, snubbing his cigarette out on a nearby ashtray and setting a timer on the microwave above the stove. 

“C’mon, I’ll play you a song while it cooks.” 

You raise your eyebrows, ceasing the swinging of your legs as you watch the burner on the stove glow red. Absolutely not wanting to push or trigger anything, you gently ask: 

“You’re just gonna leave it alone in here?” 

Rich nods, a serious expression on his face as he glances back at the pot. 

“It’s on medium, it’ll be fine. ‘Set it and forget it’, right? That’s some Martha Stewart shit, I think.” 

He seems confident, and you can confirm that the stovetop is in fact set to medium. You hop down from the counter, smoothing your shirt out once you’re landed and upright. Following Rich back to his room, you’re careful to watch your step through the living room. 

“Do you cook often?” 

A dry laugh from the boy as he leads you into his room once again, ushering you to sit down at his desk chair. 

“I’m the only one that cooks here. Granted, it’s usually hot pockets and pot pies. Boxed stuff, ready meals. But, yeah. My, uh. My mom did the cooking, before.” 

He pulls an acoustic guitar from a stand beside his desk, flopping on the edge of his beg and pulling his legs up to support the instrument. Part of you wants to ask more about his mother, but Rich has already been so vulnerable today, you don’t want to overstep. 

“I’ve been working on an original song...not to be that guy, but do you want to hear it?” 

You nod eagerly, crossing your legs in front of you as you settle into your seat. Any time Rich wanted to show you art or share his thoughts, you would be a fool to turn him down. Besides, you were curious if he was any good. 

And he was. 

Skillfully, inked fingers moved along the fret board with determination. Honestly, it baffled you how Rich could possibly remember every note, let alone get his fingers to move between them so quickly. 

The boy’s other hand is carefully plucking along at the middle of the instrument, pulling on different strings as a sort of melancholy melody fills the room. 

Rich’s eyes are closed, his lower lip between his teeth in concentration as he hangs his head some. Silently, you wonder how much of this is pure talent and how much of this is aided by the SQUIP. 

It’s very easy to lose yourself in the boy’s music, and by the time he slowly raises his forearms to rest on the lower curve of the body of the guitar, you’re not sure how much time has passed. Maybe five minutes or so. 

“Wow,” you breathe out. 

The boy opens his eyes and immediately shakes his head. “I’m not very good, you don’t have to pretend.” 

“Okay,” you shift in your seat, shaking your own head now as you talk with your hands, motioning to the different parts of the instrument. 

“I don’t know too much about music, but it’s amazing that you can get your hands to create something like that. Something like these drawings-“ 

You turn in the chair, looking back to the sketches on the desk. 

“Rich, you’re like, the most creative person I know. I mean that.” 

Your back is turned to your friend, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he replies with a soft “Thank you.” 

——-

Sitting once again on the kitchen counter, you’re careful not to scrape your spoon against the edge of the ceramic bowl your Mac and cheese calls home. 

“It’s really good,” you comment between bites, watching as Rich also seems to push his utensil around carefully. 

“Well, I just followed the instructions.” 

“Still.” 

You want to make sure you praise the boy, no matter how small the action is, knowing that his father doesn’t do the same. 

Honestly, the large red scars covering his face were a little jarring at first. It was something new to adjust to, but after a few hours, you don’t really notice them anymore. 

Though, you do notice how often Rich raises his own fingers to his skin, casting his fingertips slowly over the scarred skin. 

You take in a breath, watching the boy as he leans against the counter beside the stove, slowly eating dinner. 

“I’m assuming that everyone at school has seen those marks, right?” 

“Mostly,” he replies without missing a beat, mouth full of macaroni. 

“So why the cover up?” 

He pauses for a moment, looking up at you and then finishing his bite, swallowing hard and setting the bowl on the counter behind him. 

“My father had really drilled it home that looking at my face disgusts him. I don’t really want to cover up with face tattoos, and I think I’d have a harder time at school if you could see how much damage is really here. Looking in the mirror is hard, yknow? Being reminded all the time. Plus...it tells me I have to.” 

Any appetite you had is completely gone as you set your own bowl of dinner to the side, hopping down off of the counter and frowning. Your parents haven’t always been the best, but Jesus, how could anyone look at their own child and say something so cruel? 

“Rich...I’m sorry.” 

The boy tenses up some, his fingers gripping at the sides of the kitchen counter he’s leaning against. He raises an eyebrow. 

“You didn’t do anything to be sorry for.” 

Taking another step toward your friend, you try to soften your voice as much as possible, keeping eye contact with him. You notice that he’s holding his breath, his mouth in a hard line. 

“I’m just sorry that you’re going through all of this. I know I can’t fix it or change it, I just want you to know that you don’t deserve it. Any of it- and don’t argue with me. You’re a victim of circumstance and you can /not/ keep beating yourself up for things that just aren’t your fault.” 

He turns his head, his brown eyes starting to glisten a bit as tears pool up. You wonder if anyone has ever explicitly told him these things before. You wonder if just being his friend really is helping him. You wonder if there’s anything more you can do. Above all else, you wonder if your mother has come up with any solutions yet. 

“Okay,” he manages to get out, his voice sounding tight and dry. He sniffles a little, and you consider offering a hug, but it just doesn’t feel like what he needs. The tattooed boy raises a hand to the base of his neck, wincing as he taps against his skin. 

“Do you have any code red with you?” 

Instead of a verbal answer, you rush to his bedroom, grabbing your entire bag and bringing it back to the kitchen with you. For sake of convenience, you throw the whole thing over your shoulder and adjust the strap, producing a small red can and handing it over. 

The tab is cracked open and Rich gulps loudly, almost as if getting it down was painful, before setting the drink on the counter. From his pocket, he produces a small light blue pack of cigarettes, withdrawing a single stick. 

With the cigarette between his lips, he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and ignited the end, taking in a deep breath. You can’t help but think that this is just one of many that he’ll have tonight. 

It takes until about halfway through his smoke before Rich breaks the silence in the kitchen. You’re happy to stand with him, your bag still wrapped against your body as you wait for whatever he’s experiencing to pass. 

Suddenly, his voice is happy again, and he has the faint hint of a smile on his lips as he leads you back toward his bedroom once again. 

“C’mon, I wanna draw a portrait of you.”


End file.
